Hooded
by PrettyPrettyPlease
Summary: Ariadne's aspirations for the Dream Share world send her down a dark tunnel into the world of eco-terrorists. Can Arthur and the team save her from herself? "What if you forget everything we mean to each other?" "You'll remind me." A/A fic but the team (Cobb, Eames, Yusuf) are heavily featured. Some OC's. May get dark.
1. This Is Not An Ultimatum

Yeeeeeeeeeee! I'm back! God, I've missed writing. My family has had so many medical emergencies since my last story. I usually don't like to start posting a story until I've written at least half of it first or at least outlines of each chapter and with all recent events I haven't been as timely with that as I would've liked. But here's the brainchild I've been talking about for a while. Nervous about it 'cause I've been away from writing for a good bit so please be kind. This first chapter just sets it up. I promise there'll be more action. In fact, this one is gonna get pretty dark. Or dark by my normal style's standards. Anyways I sincerely hope you like it.

**Hooded.  
Chapter 1: It's Not An Ultimatum. **

She came waltzing through the door at 3 am. Her duffel bag was thrown across the floor and laid in the middle of the living room. Her red had been jacket tossed onto a dining chair and the sink went gushing to life. Arthur jogged into the room with his gun drawn but quickly put it away when he saw brown curls at the kitchen sink. "Thank God." She twisted her head slightly and flashed him some teeth. The Point gaited to her and squeezed his arms around her waist, burying his head in her neck, "Oh my God, I thought you were dead. I was about to hop on a plane tomorrow and go looking for you." His lips left a searing, desperate kiss on the flesh just above her scarf.

Ariadne acted shockingly cavalier, "I'm sorry I didn't call. My phone got trampled."

That's when he looked over her shoulder and saw the blood swirling around and painting the basin. Rust stained bandages ripped and laying on the counter. His hands plunged into the water with hers and held them out to look at them. There were some burns and cuts, "Ariadne…"

The Architect pursed her lips and ease her hands from him to dab them on a towel, "It's not as bad as it looks. They've mostly healed…Switzerland was good to me."

He leant against the counter, frown beginning to form, "What happened?"

"It didn't go so well." Her demeanor was non-chalant. Ariadne had learned to skirt around the bad things that happened and talk his ear off about the positive ones. She thought if she acted like it wasn't a big deal, he would believe her; she would in effect pull the wool over his eyes.

"_Define_ 'didn't go so well.'"

She lifted on shoulder and ran her eyes across the countertops. Sparkling clean…"Our chemist accidentally mixed up the substances and put the wrong one in so the dream collapsed early and David Ingams didn't get the info." Arthur watched as the girl's nails started picking at the edge of the cabinet, "Gazprom Industries was pissed…they blew up the hotel I was staying in."

He knew he'd briefed her on what to do if a job failed. You never went back to your point of origin, "You went back to the hotel?!"

"Just to get my duffel…" defended Ariadne. Even as the sentence came out she wished she'd lied and said she tripped down the airport escalators. "Which I realize was a sucky idea. If you think_ I_ look bad you should've seen Rodriguez. At least all _my _body parts are still attached to each other." Again… she had foot in mouth syndrome tonight. That fact was intended to be reassuring but turned out to be anything but.

Arthur took her chin and turned her face to him. As he expected she had a scrape on her cheek that she'd tried to hold together with several butterfly bandaids, "I told you that job wasn't a good idea."

"Yeah," she shrugged, "But it was in _Russia_!" The fireworks in her eyes lit up again. She got too excited when they talked about dreams and risks nowadays. "They have all those new PASIV models they're trying out over there and they basically let me try out whatever, whenever I wanted."

Yeah. The punctures in her wrist were proof of that. "How many times a day did you go under?"

Her voice tapered like a child worried about getting in trouble, "Only once…" His hand gripped her wrist and he looked pointedly at it and her, letting her know he knew she was lying. "…a model…"

He breathed in deep, "What have I told you about PASIV abuse? It is the easiest and—"

"—quickest way to lose yourself." She droned, "I _know_. I was careful." Ariadne pressed the dishtowel to her wounds again and pushed passed him to get to her duffel, "You're my boyfriend not my dad."

"I'm only anal because want to protect you."

The Architect looked up at him briefly while her hands dug around for more bandages in her bag, "Well, I've lasted 23 years and about a hundred jobs without your protection…I think I can handle it." There was a pleasant hum when she'd found what she was looking for and she pulled out the flesh toned roll of fabric. Arthur hadn't replied. He _did_ go sit by her on the ground, take the bandage out of her hand and begin wrapping them himself. His hands were gentle like always, touching her as if she was a cloud who'd disintegrate if he was anything but soft back. When the Point was done with her hands he turned his attention to her surface wound by her cheek. There was no away around ripping the bandaids off but he did so skillfully so as to inflict the least pain possible; his thumb rubbed the sensitive skin if she hissed. Ariadne ventured a look at him while he was attending to her wound. Eyes determined and calculating as he fished in her bag for antiseptic and sutures. His pupils darkened, though, when he inspected it again. Jaw flexed and head shaking. Disappointed, angry. Like he was certain she'd done it to herself just to spite him. "When are you going to stop doing this?"

"What?"

"Coming back to me with chunks missing." He grumbled and flitted his eyes from his task to her gaze. "With dislocated ribs and fractured bones…"

This time Ariadne's eyes ran over his undershirt and rested to the left of his belly button. A spot where the fabric covered a near fatal gunshot wound he'd come home with six months ago. "When will you stop?"

Arthur rubbed his face with his palm, "I want you to lay off dream-sharing for a while. Or at least go back to single extractions where you don't go under and can design from home."

"Excuse me?" He couldn't have offended her worse if he'd spurted something derogatory. "I'm not staying home and doodling while you go have adventures the world over."

The wrapper crinkled in his fist and he laid it on the coffee tabled to get later, "Fine. Then just sit out the next one."

"Are you crazy?! It's a huge deal. They wanted who they could get from the Inception team for a reason. We've been prepping for months. You can't find another Architect as good as me in two days." It really wasn't ego. It was a fact in the (yet to be written) dream share encyclopedia.

Arthur's hand slipped to the back of her neck, "The entire team is rethinking the offer. I've had Cobb take a look at the paperwork and we did some thorough research together over the phone—he doesn't think it's a smart idea either. These people are dangerous. If they get their claws in us, I don't think they'll ever let go."

"They're helping the environment…all they're doing is sending messages to the corporations that do more damage than good and persuading them to change or back down."

"They're terrorists," insisted the Point.

Her eyes rolled to the back of her head, "Oh come on…"

Arthur took out some wipes and began washing off the dried blood down her forearms, "They physically harm people—even the innocent ones-in the company without any thought. They blow up entire office buildings, poison CEO's and you want to help them take it a step further into mental warfare?"

"Yes because then it'll stop all of it. If we can help them change people's minds without having to cause bodily harm then there's no need for them to do it anymore. It's helping them find a better alternative." He should've never let her read the file on them, let her help him research by reading those anarchists websites. Ariadne loved the earth, certain questions they posed resonated with her. She'd become too passionate about it.

He dragged his pinky along her collarbone, "I'm sick of worrying about you."

"Look…I'll be super careful. _You_'ll be with me on this job and Eames will be there and Yusuf will be there and we've worked with Ingams, he'll be there." Her eyes sparkled because she had firm faith that everything would work out and they'd all give in and join her on this operation. "I'll be fine and if it makes you feel better, I won't go into the field. If you _really _think an aspect is too dangerous then I'll sit out that part."

He sighed, preparing to let her down easy, "Only Ingams is still interested in the job. The rest of us have decided to turn it down. Yusuf and Cobb have even shredded their contracts."

Ariadne looked to her side at the blank square of the powered down television, thinking. Her lips pressed together decidedly, "Well it's not like we always have to work together."

"Just promise me you won't make any decisions until we talk about this with the team again, yeah?"

"Ok." She said, pecked him on the lips and wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, "Now, I haven't seen you in a month and half…I don't want to fight. I was hoping for a warmer welcome."

Arthur simpered and snaked his arms around her waist, "Well, my apologies. Let me correct that." He picked her up off the floor and stepped over her duffel while planting an earth bending kiss. Arthur smiled into her as he felt her legs wrap around him like a koala. "Welcome home, Architect."

"More than happy to be back, Point Man," crooned the Architect before laughing as Arthur made haste for their bedroom.

Xxxxxx

There was no need to grab his weapon just in case, he knew it was her when the doorknob jiggled and shuffling feet crept in. There was the jingle of her keys being hung up and then he felt her. The hairs of his arms and the pull in his chest felt his guilty other half make her way closer to him and take a seat on the couch. Arthur's back was rigid and he sat straighter than usual. His arms were folded across his chest and his eyes stared ahead of him at the wall. She hopped onto the couch like a cat and crossed her legs to face him. Her voice faded in, "I thought you weren't going to be back from your meeting until ten?" It was in a tone that danced into his ears and pretended that it would pull him out of this odd funk. But to no avail. She tried again, "I would've stayed home and cooked you dinner if I knew…" The silent treatment remained effective. Fed up with his issues she stood and crossed in front of him. Now _her _arms were folded and her itty bitty foot was tapping. "Ok, how long are you going to be upset with me about whatever this is? Because I might as well go stay with Edith while your brooding."

That got a reaction out of him. She guessed he'd finally gotten bored with his favorite spot on the blank wall because his gaze flickered to hers, "I have every right to be upset with you."

"Not _every _right. Maybe a couple rights…I don't even know what I did!" Ariadne's eyes rolled at him and she went to get herself a glass of water. Arthur was going to go into one of his spiels like always and she would end up yelling at him to get her own point across. Might as well prepare the throat ahead of time.

Like clockwork, the Point followed her in a march, "You gave me your word Thursday and then you went back on it. You said you'd wait until we met with the team and discussed the offer from The Hoods _together _before you did anything."

"Well technically I did discuss it." She makes a show of opening the overhead cabinet and yanking out a cup. "Ingams and I analyzed it over lunch and he has the same viewpoint I do."

"You told me you were having lunch with Edith and Clarisse. Then I call Edith because you left your phone here and find out you're _not_ with her. And all the files on the offer have been taken out of my safe. And—" He pulled out a thick stack of papers from the top of the counter and held them out as proof to her, "A _signed _contract is hidden under your pillow. You lied to me… I have to wonder what else you'd lie to me about…or what else you've snuck behind my back to do."

The girl hadn't even gotten so far as to pour her beverage before his words tried her patience. It was like just because she'd figured things out and her decision was against his wishes, all of a sudden she was a traitorous person and he needed to question her fidelity. She put the empty glass back down on the counter and leaned against her hands towards him. "Nothing. The only reason I did what I did was because you were being unreasonable."

"Unreasonable? Ariadne, The Hoods are _killers_." Every word was articulated as if he didn't expect Ariadne to understand English.

"Because they don't have a better alternative…for the _millionth_ time. They have good intentions!"

"What if they don't? What if you finish the job and they decide they want you to join their little cult?"

She attempted to interrupt "They _aren't_ a freakin—"

"What if this is a trap?" Folded arms again. What? Was it just a reflex when he talked to her? His hip pressed against the counter.

"What if I went to get the mail and I got run over by a bus?" Ariadne turned again to fill her cup with tap water, "What if some random guy at the market decided he wanted to mug and rape me?"

His hand grabbed the fridge handle, "Could you take our conversation seriously for once?"

Well screw the drink. She couldn't finish preparing it without him interrupting her. She sat the glass in the sink and turned to face him, one eyebrow raised as a challenge. "I am. A lot of things could happen but you can't lock me inside the house in a bullet proof vest forever."

Arthur scoffed, "Well I could."

"I would walk out that door this second and never look back at you if you tried." The Architect scoffed back but they both knew their sentences were empty threats. He would never attempt to put her on house arrest…she wasn't a possession, he didn't own her, and he didn't have the authority or desire to dampen her spirits. And Ariadne would never willingly walk out on him. The only exception would be if he committed adultery-which he wouldn't-So back to square one.

"I just don't understand why you can't sit this _one _job out. For me."

"And I don't understand why you can't let go and let me do what I want!" She stalked away from him again. She always did when they fought. Ariadne hated fighting with him even as it was happening, even in the moments where she wanted to bite his head off…she would get so mad-and not be able to stand being mad at him-so she'd avoid close contact so it wouldn't seem like they weren't really arguing.

But Arthur's nature wouldn't let her. Not that he felt any different than she about their quarrels but he wanted to settle it. He wanted to look into her eyes and fix it. He wanted to be able to assess the emotion in them so he could react accordingly. Make the altercation end as quickly as possible. That's why he followed her when she paced. "Because I'm not going to allow you to sign your death warrant! Because that's what that contract is!"

"Well I'm not going to allow you to chain me down just to feed your ego!" The Parisian stopped in the doorway of their bedroom.

This hurt the Point more than it annoyed him. Not the fact that she attacked his ego but the fact that she might've thought he was so jealous of her that he would try to stop her. Yes, he was in awe of the speed she learned and progressed and envious that she had such a big imagination but those were things he loved about her. She was the best at what she did and if she put her mind to it, yeah, she might be able to outdo him in Point work too but he would only admire and adore her all the more for it. "This has nothing to do with my ego. You know I'm proud of you! I'm proud of all you've accomplished in such a short time, all you're capable of! I love that you learn fast, that everything comes so easy to you. I would _never_ hold you back to make myself feel better. But you're still a novice. You don't know—"

And the assaults of her tongue cut him off and attacked him again. These were the times he realized how much younger she was than him. Only six years-and she was mature and wise for her age, no doubt-but she was still prone to slip into the childish aspect of arguing more than he. "You think you know better than everyone just because you're a Point Man and your job is to sit on your ass all day ordering people around. You may know the social security number of Robert Fischer and Lilah Caplan's first pet but you don't know what's best for me!"

"_Yes. I. Do._ I've been in this business far longer than you and I've seen every way it can destroy a person's mind and body. I've watched people crumble into nothing," His hands felt the need to demonstrate with air what exactly he'd watched, "I've watched clients and marks and teammates alike turn on each other and rip each other apart for money, connections, revenge, _desires_. Forgive me if I don't want you to be a victim of that."

"You're forgiven…" Since he'd started discovering her, he had learned she had her own 'Point Man' face. It was far more infuriating than he believed he could ever make his. Perhaps, it was just the fact that he didn't like that expression on her face (that expression being blank and uncaring. _Unfeeling.)_ Normally she felt too strongly about things. Her heart was humongous. It was bigger than both of them so when she put it away behind that mask his world felt smaller. Ariadne blinked and shrugged her shoulders, "Now _I_ have an early meeting tomorrow so—" And dammit, she walked away from him. He wasn't going to let her leave it at that.

"This conversation isn't over." He'd entered the room and backed her against the wall before she had time to twitch. He held her wrists beside her head (firm to get her attention but loose so she could always get away), pressed against the wall.

Ariadne wrenched his tightening fingers off, "Why are you so controlling?!"

"Why are you so damn stubborn?!"

"What?" She feigned surprise and then mocked him. Another one of Ariadne's talents was that she was fluent in sarcasm—"You don't think you're just as stubborn? Why do you think we hate each other?"—and blood boiling accusations.

"We _don't _hate each other!" Arthur gritted. It was getting to the all familiar bubbling over point where his breaths became labored. He _did_ _hate_ when _this_ happened.

"We don't?" Again with the facetiousness…the taller of the two's head began to furiously shake back and forth. The time bomb was ticking dangerously fast, "Isn't that why we fight all the time?!" Those words of hers did it. The implication that they were capable of despising one another was the straw that broke the camel's back. The Point Man grunted and punched the wall on either side of her head. The loudness next to her ears startled her but she wasn't afraid. He wouldn't hurt her. "I can't do this anymore!" His eyes dropped away from hers and his breathing calmed. Arthur's body loosened and he slinked down to his knees; his hands fell to her hips and his forehead leaned against her stomach. "We can't do this anymore... We need to stop dreaming."

Now Ariadne felt remorseful. Most of the time—not all—but most of the time he was the first to cave. But this time she'd reduced him passed the compromising stage to a near broken one and it didn't satisfy her. And though his suggestion both shocked and scared her, she found her fingers combing through his black tresses and the freeing the strands from the crusted gel soothingly as she spoke, "_Stop_ dreaming…? I don't think I _could_ quit even if I wanted to. Could you?"

"Yes," he lifted his head and looked up at her, "I've been thinking about it for a while now and I've discovered that I _would. _If I had to choose which one of you to live without." Next, Arthur got up off the ground. All traces of the former lividness were gone; in his eyes there was only truth and hopefulness. "If you were following me I could walk away from all of it and never even think to look back. Imagine…we could move back to the States by your family. Eames could forge you a letter to get you into any firm you wanted to work in and I'd pay for you to build the home you want." His hands laced with hers with gentleness and endearment. "We wouldn't have to skip through countries unless we wanted to. We wouldn't have to be paranoid and look over our shoulders at every turn. It wouldn't matter who knew our last names, who'd remember our faces." Arthur then brushed his forehead against hers and aligned the tips of their noses, "Baby, we could get married." He beamed so that his dimples appeared, "We could have beautiful children together...a little girl with my eyes and your sweet mouth…all of your miraculous creativity and both of our infuriating stubbornness." He chuckled at that. "Doesn't that sound wonderful? I want to be able to give you that. Don't you want that for us?"

It was mindboggling that Arthur had planned everything out in his head like that for them. Ariadne's heart swelled with the knowledge that he cared for her that much, that he wanted all that with her. For them together. It sounded like the ideal, white picket fence, American Dream. Yet, it was overwhelming at this point in her life. As picturesque as he made it sound…that's not what she had in mind. If anyone would've asked her where she saw herself in five years: settled down in a huge house with Arthur, four kids and a boring cubicle job in Virginia is not what she would've answered. The poor girl really did try to break it to him gently. "I'm only twenty three…" Already he didn't like the tone and the sympathies it implied. He pulled away so he could read her face. "I don't want to move home. I've spent my entire life trying to get out of there. I don't want a legitimate job behind a desk. I want close encounters and thrills and adventures not babies to chase around the house all day. I'm not ready to settle down- not with so much the dream world can offer me. You said it yourself: there's nothing like it. _Nothing, _Arthur. There's so much about it I haven't gotten to experience yet. I want fight stories and battle scars like you have."

The gleam in her eyes when she spoke of the dares and dangers she could have made him nauseous. Her hunger for wounds and trouble made his stomach physically contract. "You don't want to live the life I've had to." He coaxed and lowered their hands to her sides.

"Yes I do!" She smiled.

"No, you don't want to see the things I've seen." The Point didn't think there was a chance of talking her out of her feelings but he gave his two-piece anyway. "You deserve more; you deserve _everything_. This business changes people, Ari. You're perfect the way you are."

"But I _love _it."

_Love. _That was it. The decision in Arthur's head that he'd been going back and forth on was then decided. Ariadne loved it…he already knew it but he could feel a stronger passion in those words than before. She wouldn't give it up without kicking and screaming. She would never be satisfied unless she got her fill of creation. She would despise him if he was the cause that separated her and that world. Ariadne spoke again, pulling him out of his gut-cringing thoughts.

"Look…maybe years from now I'll be like Cobb and—"Her phrase faltered when Arthur shook his head at the Extractor's name—"I'll love the idea of retiring and having a family with you but not this instant. Not anytime soon. That doesn't mean I don't love you…"

"But you love dreaming more…I understand."

"I love it differently." She cupped his cheek and hoped the gesture would ease the blow.

He nodded and immediately the Architect felt relieved. The fight was over and they'd come to a tranquil understanding. She was pleased with the outcome too until he walked to their closet and stated factually, "I'll have my things out by morning."

"Wait—I didn't mean—we don't have to break up." Ariadne was thoroughly confused then, especially when he emerged with his two suitcases.

"Yes, we do."

"That's not fair. You can't give me an ultimatum like this." Ariadne's eyes had grown in size and eyed the luggage slung on their bed with stupor.

Arthur's voice reassured her (likely story…any reassurance was mooted as long as he kept unzipping the suitcases while he talked to her) "This isn't an ultimatum."

"'Quit dreamshare or I'm leaving you' that doesn't sound like one?" The Point said nothing but disappeared back into the closet. When he came back out he'd had his two garment bags full of suits in his hands; he carefully laid them on the bed as well. His next trip brought a collection of folded shirts, sweaters and pants which he neatly organized into the bottom of his luggage. Ariadne remained frozen with her eyebrows furrowed. He made another trip carrying clothes of the same nature to which Ariadne's mouth gaped. When Arthur came out with a few pair of shoes in his hand, The Architect found her muscles and stepped in front of him before he could cross back to his suitcases. "Stop." The man merely sighed, placed his shoes in the pockets designated and went back for more. Now she was getting aggravated, "This isn't funny," she complained when she saw not only more of his shoes packed away but a small portion of his collection of ties. "Arthur. Unpack all of that right now." She pointed at his bags and demanded but he ignored her and crossed over to their dresser and began pulling open all the drawers his items were kept in.

Arthur turned around when he heard something zipping. On closer look, he realized his stuff was dumped out in a pile back in the floor and his now empty suitcases were being sealed and rolled away. "What are you doing?" He put down the briefs and socks in his hand and gaited across the room to take one of his suitcases out of her grasp.

"You're not going anywhere!"

He pried the object out of her hands and slung it back on the bed, unzipping it for the third time. "Yes I am." Arthur spun back around to retrieve his clothing from the floor. She blocked him, "Fine! I quit. Are you happy?! I'll give it up. I choose you." It was easy to evade her. Ariadne was tiny and his legs were too long fast not to be able to maneuver around her. "It's not your choice. This is mine."

With a huff, Ariadne kept in step with him as he repacked everything and headed towards their bathroom for his toiletries. "Well you don't have to make it anymore because I'll do whatever you want me to do." Still, he paid her no mind. His travel bag was pulled out of the towel cabinet and he'd started dropping in his electric razor, his deodorant, his floss. "Arthur, this is what you wanted. I'm choosing you over dreamwork…" The Architect plucked one of his products out of the zipper and put it back in its _rightful _spot, "put your damn toothbrush back!"

"I'm not letting you make the choice. If I let you choose me, then down the road you'll hate me for it. All I want is your happiness, Ari."

The Architect took the bag and dumped out its contents—which received a groan from Arthur—before she replied, "Then don't leave me."

"You can't be happy without the dreams. Not until you've had your share of it like the rest of us have." With a swiftness all of his toiletries were placed back in the travel bag as he spoke, "And I can't be happy standing by and watching you slowly lose yourself physically and mentally. I can't handle the worrying. I can't come home to this fighting anymore. It doesn't matter what I say or what I offer you—your mind is made up. Your heart is set. _You love this. _I can't and won't stop you from doing what you really want to do." He pivoted, bag in hand, to go pack it.

She made all of his movement halt when she took the bag from his hands, placed it on the closed toilet lid and snaked her arms around his neck. Her voice was low and pleading now, the gravity of what was happening slowly replacing the shock, "We'll stop fighting."

"We won't." The despondency in his tone couldn't be overlooked. Neither could the truth. Her face fell completely to a place he hated seeing it: contorted, sad. She whispered, "Why?" He knew she meant why he was doing this—leaving—not why they wouldn't stop. That answer was evident.

The Point picked her up and sat her down on the vanity in their bathroom in the spot between their sinks. His body pressed against the counter between her knees and he murmured back—as her hands instinctively flew to weave with his-"I love you more than anything. And every breath I take without you beside me will kill me in ways you can't imagine. But this is what you _really _want, what you need. So I'm going to give it to you…guilt free. Argument free." Arthur went to pull his hands away so he could continue packing but her hands tightened. She refused to let him go. "Ariadne…" he warned but it was more of a discontented sigh…he wanted her to release his hands no more than she wanted to release them. "Marry me," She gave in, "If that's what you want. If that'll make you stay, Arthur, then I'll be your wife." Arthur's head shook sadly. She continued bartering, "Let's go tomorrow. We can get it done at the courthouse and—" He smiled with no happiness, "You know I've dreamt about you saying those words? But not like this. Your love isn't a bargaining chip; I want you to want it. _Me._"

"I do."

"But not more than pure creation." Her silence that followed was enough to reaffirm his resolve. "Let this torture end, Ariadne." His forehead rested on her shoulder and waited. Slowly—crawlingly slow—her hold loosened and her hands opened. She watched them as his fingers slipped out of hers and left the spaces painfully vulnerable. Quickly, she fisted so they'd feel full and closed her eyes while she felt him break contact with her shoulder and heard him walk out of the bathroom.  
xxxxxx

She sat between the frames of the door of their bedroom. Her back rested against the side of the door and her feet bent and pressed against the other side. Ariadne watched him like a hawk. His every move. Every fold of a shirt or sock. As he strode in and out of the closet, their bathroom, padding around their room, as he stepped over her and gathered different things of his strewn through the kitchen and living area. For hours she watched him. He'd caught her yawning once and then pushed, "You know you're making this harder. You need to go to bed. Tomorrow is a big day if you're going to have that meeting and sign on with the Hoods. You don't want to be tired and un-alert in case something happens." Always worried about her health and safety that man…even when his worry was the cause of all their problems.

"I'm watching you leave. If this is the last time I'll see you, I'm not gonna go to bed and wake up with you gone like all of this has been an elaborate dream." She refused.

"You'll see me again."

That helped things, her dulled eyes brightened up a fraction again, "You promise?"

"I wouldn't be me if I could resist checking on you every now and then." Ever the gentleman, he picked her up bridal style and carried her to her side of the bed (his was still peppered with his stuff) "Tell me if you move; I'll keep this number just for you. And if you ever find yourself in trouble—if you need anything at all-you know I'll come running before you blink." He pulled the covers up around her and ran a hand through her hair, "Now go to sleep, love."  
xxxxxx

She eventually drifted off. Arthur pretended not to notice how she lined up her back against his suitcase like she was used to molding into him and he struggled to overlook the wet marks on her pillowcase. With everything organized, packed away and his suitcases waiting by the door, he pulled on his trench coat and—thought back to the girl alone and asleep in the bed they once shared. As quiet as he could, he unzipped the suitcase a hair and pulled out a red and white pinstriped dress shirt.

Arthur tiptoed back into their bedroom and over to her. Nimbly he stuffed the shirt under her pillow and whispered, "Your favorite…" After one last kiss on her forehead he faded into the shadows and found himself a hotel across the city.  
xxxxxx

So a bit of a depressing way to start…the writing and grammar crap will improve once my rusty self gets into the groove again. Please review if you're interested and/or if you've come to check this out because you've read some of my other stories. I'll try to keep up the pace I normally have: if I get a few responses than I usually aim to update daily. Thanks if you've read this far! I'm excited to share this new journey for A/A with you! –PrettyPrettyPlease


	2. Reunion of Sorts

Hi, Hi. Thank you so much for the response =)  
_nowarning23: _glad it was believable, that's what I was hoping for. _Nina: _No, I have not seen the East but I have been following the production process very closely. Hopefully it will come to a theater near me because I'm beyond excited to see it! 'The Hoods' _are_ kind of based on the 'The East' in that they attack corps and stuff but the plotline from what I've read about the East is very different. I actually started out this fic as a serial killer but then the first teaser of the East came out and I was like…ooooh. Ideas galore. And you're very kind about the rusty thing. _Lazarus76: _glad to hear from you again! _Lauraa-x: _Playing with emotions…awesome. Well, haha… I'm sorry (or sickeningly delighted) to say that that might only get worse…ANDDDD _ . : _So glad I've intrigued you. I hope to keep that up. Feedback always helps me.

**Chapter 2: Reunion of Sorts**

Four months. It had been four months since they'd spoken. Since Arthur had walked out of their home and given her up so she could follow her own ambitions. He'd made a strict rule for himself: Only check on the Architect every six months. Absolutely no contact or internet reconnaissance in between. That didn't stop his mind from drifting to her little frame and bright eyes every day. Every morning, he scowled at the unused pillow that taunted him and every night, his arm fell through the emptiness to wrap around a girl that wasn't there. He kept busy. Busier than he had been before Ariadne had ruined him. He found that constant work distracted him from the distance, from not knowing where she was, if she was safe, if she was happy. He'd managed to get Cobb back on board for a job in Santa Monica, CA. It was close so Cobb wouldn't really need to leave his kids. It was a legal job, simple and Dom had spoken about missing the dreams a few times. He wasn't desperate to dream again but a nice easy job to feel the adrenaline was welcomed, especially with no danger of being arrested and no potential threat to his family. They'd been doing swell, he and the kids. Philippa and James latched back on to him upon his return and he'd spent every minute since making up for lost time. He dropped them off and picked them up from school, was at every soccer practice and game and every dance class and performance. Dom made a special effort to have a home cooked meal (one the kids could help with) as a family every night, to read the kids to bed and be ready for nightmares. He'd taken them to the park nearly every Friday after school, movies and Chuck E. Cheese on the weekends. It was doubtful but you'd think the Cobb children would be just a visit away from being sick of Disneyland. Ehh…not until James and Phillipa completed their collection of every Disney stuffed animal and Collector's Princess Doll sold.

Anyways…the job was for the Californian government. A bill that wasn't in the best interest of the state's economy and safety was fixing to be voted on. Whether it was passed or not was in the hands of one undecided (who leaned towards passing it). The governor and a few other concerned officials decided to go in together and hire Arthur and his team of 'dream makers' to persuade the man towards rejecting the bill. They would of course be compensated gratuitously and the governor and other state officials would cover their tracks should the job fail because they shouldn't be caught paying criminals to manipulate the minds of the people anyway. It was a win-win. Naturally, Arthur called Yusuf first to see if he was busy. Fortunately, his last job had just ended and he was clear for another. His substance business had been booming: more dreamers coming in than ever. Inception had proved a free way to advertise his abilities. He bought out two shops on either side of him so he could build more into the underground for the dreamers and used one shop as a lab area. He and his wife Nita decided to hire extra help once they expanded, so leaving for a job was a piece of cake to do and no income was lost for it.

Through much convincing, Cobb and Yusuf talked Arthur into calling Eames in to be the forger- That was a challenge. Eames had gotten himself into quite a bit of trouble…but then again what else would you expect from him? He'd been caught in some crossfire between a company named Gatu-Geaux and another named GEO-Fuel Inc. Accusing him of forgery (surprised?) and some dream manipulation he didn't remember doing (in his defense he had done many since Inception-it was hard to keep track. Plus, he may or may not have been drunk.). He received an anonymous tip telling him to stay out of America and away from home in England for a few months. It died down since then; he'd called in a favor with Saito to straighten it out and was right as rain to come to LA and join Cobb and the gang. (Arthur hoped he would have to stay out of the Americas forever but hey, you win some and you lose some…)

With everyone from Inception having the chance to reunite once more—Cobb thought it would be nice for Ariadne to hop on board as the Architect and they could all enjoy a stress free job together for a change…but the last thing Arthur needed was the temptation and torment of being with Ariadne and not _being with _Ariadne. He feared the disintegration of his resolution. That as soon as he heard her voice on the phone he'd go crawling back to try to take over her life again. That as soon as her eyes batted at his he'd beg her to take him back whatever the terms and conditions. And then the loop would start again. And so would the fighting. And she'd grow to hate him. And he'd rather her forget he ever existed or that they missed each other with the burning pain of hell's flames than to have her despise him. So Arthur refused to call her. He sat in front of the other three men and lied through his teeth—that Ariadne was too big for her britches. She wouldn't want to work with them again, she was off doing better things. The job would bore her. They didn't need her. Who cared if it was almost a reunion? Who cared if Cobb may not do another job with them? He wouldn't bother her. She could visit the boys if she desired so heavily.

The trouble was that no one believed him. Yeah…They shrugged and pretended to for his fragile ego. They knew he yearned to come in contact with her again…She was the love of his life. He'd admitted it to Cobb (who like a teenage girl had accidentally let it slip to the rest of the team in not as many words.) Eames believed Arthur merely didn't want his ex to see how badly he missed her—coward. In reality (and Cobb _was_ the only one who knew _this_) Arthur's insides were in constant knots because of his struggle. Their relationship, his overprotectiveness, his inability to control the environment and people she was exposed to in such a manner that would keep her safe and then his frustration over that inability mixed with her ambition, stubbornness and fearlessness was poison to them. Poison to her career. It drained the both of them physically, mentally and emotionally—and Arthur was trying to save them from that still. The Point knew that he couldn't resist her (the girl was damn persuasive), that it would take every strength not to give in to their feelings for each other. That if she still loved him, they would undoubtedly be incapable of going on like this. They would think they could dive in and try it again with a different outcome…but as long as she had to dream and as long as he cared about her wellbeing, it would always stay the same. Infinitely. No changing it. Arthur hired a different Architect before that week was through without discussion with anyone else. A man, tall, blonde, small blue eyes, bulky hands, preppy clothes and a mundane, static work ethic. His enthusiasm for his designs lived only in the dollar signs and his creativity sloppily borrowed from the rest of the team. His name was John Moores. And The Point hired him because aside from being an architect he was nothing like Ariadne. That much was obvious to the Team when the man waltzed in and introduced himself.

"Ok Sassafrass…what's going on?"

Arthur looked up from the mark's phone records, "What do you mean, Eames?"

"You know what I mean." The Forger had caught Arthur staring at his phone screen a few times. No typing, no scrolling. Just checking it, rubbing his temples and placing it face down to the side. Eames took it upon himself to snatch Arthur's phone and open the lock screen. Sure enough, the background was the Architect. A silly picture where her thumb and index held the bottom of her chin, her held was tilted, and she mocked Arthur's Point Man face. Eames wouldn't have known the story behind it—but the next morning after she'd returned from Russia she had a massive craving for a croissant from their favorite patisserie. Arthur left his phone at the table to order for them at the counter and she decided to take some selfies on it just to annoy him. He thought this particular one was adorable and threatened to make it his background. Ariadne soon regretted her decision and told him not to but he said _Don't take embarrassing pictures of yourself if you don't want them documented, sweetheart._ And she replied _Oh, shove it. I have plenty of pictures of your dimples, Mr. Solemn, and I'm not afraid to use them. _He remembered glaring, _You wouldn't. _Andclear as day, he could see her taking a bite of the flaky bread with that snarky look on her face, _Don't smile if you don't want it documented, sweetheart. _

The Englishman yanked him out of the often, involuntarily visited memory. "You're avoiding Ariadne like the plague. Which-I know how slippery the slope of exes are—but you're good at shutting off humanoid feelings for the sake of professionalism." He noted the stiffening in Arthur's shoulders and filed it away, "She would've done a much better job with this than Malibu Barbie over there."

Arthur droned, "_Ken_ is the guy doll."

"Oh, I'm aware of the difference." He snuck a furtive, judgmental glance at John. "Look at him."

"You're very flamboyant yourself, Mr. Eames. I've seen you wear some god-awful florals in my time." The more serious of the two figured this banter would not go anywhere so he tried to open the file and read again.

Eames defended, "Hawaiian print. It's festive but manly. He's wearing bloody sunflowers on his shirt." He grimaced than seemed to remember, "Anyways, Ariadne."

"Not now."

"But—"

"Not ever. She is not a valid topic. Return to your desk."

Never ever give Eames directions and trust he'll oblige, "Tell me, Arthur, are you that angry with her over wanting to do a job the rest of us didn't want to do? I thought you were the forgiving type of man…especially when it came to her." The Point made no notion of hearing Eames. He simply turned the page of the phone list and uncapped a highlighter. "You're a cold bastard, Arthur Nolan, what kind of boyfriend are you?"

"A non-existent one. We're not together anymore; As I said, I'd rather not speak of her." He gritted and tried to tune out the rest of what Eames had to say. The Point turned to the next page in the folder without really studying the first—only trying to look busy so the Brit would leave him be.

"I knew it." Eames let out a humorless chuckle, "I _knew _it when it started and I should've warned her against it. I should've told her not to get involved with you. I knew you'd break her heart."

Arthur tossed the highlighter onto the desk and raised his eyebrow, "Oh? And why is that?"

"Because she has a _big_, _beating _one and you seem not to have one at all. It's obvious you never cared about her—" The Brit sneered and shook his head pityingly at the Point who stood and flung the papers in his hand towards the desk. They scattered all over the floor and desk but Arthur couldn't have cared less about the disorganization as he warned with heavy lids, "That is stepping into dangerous territory—"

For some reason, Eames felt the need to jab at Arthur. The Forger knew how much Ariadne had cared for Arthur, how foolishly deep she'd fallen with him and that the sweet girl probably had the toughest, rawest, most undeserving heartbreak in her life because of the selfish man in front of him. "She loves you more than you could ever love her. You _don't_ love her, you _can't_ love her. You're too obsessed with your job and how many suits you need to keep up the elusive James Bond façade."

Arthur slammed his hand down on the wood, eliciting silence and eyes from every corner of the room. He seethed, "Don't you _ever, ever _say that I don't love Ariadne. I was ready to walk away from everything I've known, everything I've built and worked for to have her. _She _can't live without _this_." He snatched the PASIV from under his desk and tossed it down.

"So you chose to live without _her_? She wouldn't let you control her life-like it was some kind of job you were in charge of-and make her quit, so you left her." Accused a disgusted Eames.

"I _gave her up." _The Point Man enunciated each word loudly through the warehouse. It echoed, "I can't help but be worried about her safety and I can't help but want to hold her back to protect her. She doesn't deserve obligatory guilt and arguments and overprotectiveness. She wants to thrive in this business and you can't do that in a relationship. _I gave her up _so she could have what she _really_ loves. You have no right to come in here and accuse me of not feeling as 'broken up' as her. And though I hardly owe you an explanation for what is none of your damn business," His voice then lowered as the steam left his ears and his audience (all three of them) blinked awkwardly. The forger glanced down to notice Arthur clutching his totem with white knuckles. The latter spoke again, "I can assure you that since her absence I've lived a lifetime in hell." He pushed his chair into his desk and excused himself to the bathroom.  
xxxxxx

Arthur splashed his face with cold water and then wet a paper towel to hold to his neck to help him cool down. What was wrong with him? He could've at least called and offered. If Eames talked to her and she learned that the team reunited without her and he singlehandedly assured she wouldn't be able to join them she would be upset with him. More upset…Then again, who did he think he was? It had been four months. Who said Ariadne wasn't over him and on to the next dream-share connoisseur? The thought made him sick…although at least one of them would be released from the misery of separation. He decided he would call her that night and catch up. Four months was a good record to start out with… a lot of things can happen in four months. Depending on the length and complexity, she could've completed several jobs. He was curious to see how the one for The Hoods had gone, they seemed to be more scarce in their attacks lately...Ariadne must've been right. Perhaps, she had started a partnership with Ingams though he was sure he would've heard if they had through the dream network.

His hotel room was lit in a comfortable glow from the bedside lamp and the blinking tv. He'd gotten in around eight (the preliminary stages of the job always left the team turning in early), taken a shower, shot an email update to the governor and ordered and finished some mushu pork. He was putting off the call for last…halfway dreading it and halfway anticipating it. He didn't remember dialing, or the four or five rings that came before her voice. All he remembered was the sound of bells—"This is Ariadne."  
xxxxxx

"_Ariadne!" She chimes after the click of the phone connection. _

_He freezes. This is a terrible idea. Unnatural. Why had he even thought of it?_

_The girls asks the silence, "Uh, hello…?" There are breaths coming in through the receiver. It makes her nervous. Her and Eames just met in San Francisco for an extraction but as soon as the Forger got a whiff of who it was for (another rival of Cobol), he insisted they not do it. So they ducked out and are currently chilling in Lagos. The heat had mostly settled and they heard that the client had hired some replacements so she was due back in Paris by tomorrow afternoon. But this call might change that. Just before she hangs up—_

"_It's Arthur." He comes up with a quick excuse for the delay, "Sorry, the reception where I am is faulty." _

"_Oh." Her head rears back in a wave of shock. He's never called her before. There's the occasional email when a job opportunity arises and a total of five texts, all of which were sent during a job as reminders of meeting times or deadlines. Eames is concerned too, after all he's taken full responsibility of keeping her safe this time around. Her eyes cut to his comically as if to say, 'You're not gonna believe this shit…' "Is…" Ariadne stammers for something normal to say to mask the shock. She doesn't know how to converse with him over the telephone line! They've never done it be-freakin-fore. What is the appropriate response? What sounds professional? He might hang up if she even hints at regarding him as a friend, "Do you need something?" Yeah that sounds business-like, Ariadne… Think receptionist at a law firm or something. _

"_No," Why didn't he just hang up? The smart alternative would be apologizing for an 'accidental' dial of the wrong number. "Not exactly." What is he doing? "Are you home?" Stop it now, Point Man. This is not accept—shh, she's talking._

"_Lagos." The Forger shoots her a 'what the hell are you doing giving away our location, like that?' look. She waves her arm dismissively at him, "With Eames actually. I should be home tomorrow." The aforementioned bloke mouths warningly, 'That better be Miles.' Ariadne waves him off again. She's curious, she wants to hear this loud and clear, "Why?"_

_Arthur clears his throat. There's no turning back after this. Yet, he doesn't care. Cobb is settled and needs not be bothered. Arthur is a busy wanderer and he needs another friend. "I'm flying into Paris on Wednesday." He won't divulge why. Especially since the reason is pure recreation. He's been working on accounts in Bordeaux and for whatever reason really wants to see the Architect. He's passing over anyway. "If you're available, would you like to go for coffee?" _

_It's not an exaggeration to say her jaw has dropped to the ground. Ariadne's brain struggles to work properly. It's not focusing on much else than trying to digest the casual invitation to coffee from THE most UN-casual person to exist. So it's useless in formulating a reply she believes will sound proficient enough for him, she just answers what comes to first, "I'm a sleep deprived college student. I would LOVE coffee." Now Eames is baffled. Who (who knew who Eames was) is inviting her out wouldn't matter if he wasn't eavesdropping but he's Eames. She sees the wheels in his head turning to figure it out. Is Cobb coming to visit? _

_Arthur is both relieved and stressed by her answer at the same time. He handles is smoothly and mechanically though, "Good." He wanted to say 'great' but that seems much too caring on his part. "Is there anywhere specific you enjoy going? If not, I've heard good things about a café next door to some sort of Shakespearean book place near the Notre Dame."_

"_Oh yeah! I know where you're talking about." When she isn't slaving on what sounds right to say around him, the words come easily. They are comfortable talking to each other when they let the guard down and are themselves. "I've been to the bookstore, it's amazing, you'd probably like it. I haven't tried the café though." _

_There's a brief pause as he considers the new information and new thought bubble he should (SHOULD) burst, "How about this, then? If it's convenient, would you accompany me to the bookstore and lunch-instead of coffee-afterwards?" _

_Too much to comprehend. Too much to comprehend. First a call. A call for coffee…now they're going to browse a bookstore and lunch…who is this guy? "Yeah, that sounds fun. Time?"_

"_Is ten-thirty at the bookstore doable?"_

"_Very," She drags out. Everything about it, suspicious. Is it for a job proposition? Is he going to extract her? She doesn't think he would do that…_

_He clips, "Very well. So…it's a meeting then?" He's careful not to use the token colloquial 'it's a date' because it most certainly isn't. _

_Ariadne eyes Eames warily. Perhaps she should turn him down because of the odd behavior. Calling out of the blue to visit…that isn't Arthur. "It's a meeting." But she wants to see him too bad. She can't help she's fascinated with the Point Man and his designer three pieces. And this is a perfect opportunity to study him more…uncover more of the human she's pretty sure is down there even though Eames bet her three thousand Euros that he was a real life manifestation of Siri. And this sounds friendly…Ariadne has always wanted to be considered his friend. _

"_I look forward to it." Was that too much? Should he be looking forward to it? _

"_Uh, me too…" The Architect senses the finality and offers a farewell, "Bye, Arthur." Eames eyebrows shoot up and waggle. Already, the tail is wagging and she knows he's fixing to pipe up and rile the Point Man up with teases about them snogging. So right after he replies she hangs up._

_Then checks her totem.  
xxxxxx_

More set up. The next chapter is where the action and actual grit of the story starts I promise. I wanted to reintroduce our loveable Team and give a backdrop on what they've been up to and what they will be up to while Ariadne is-not with them. I will say that a few details embedded in here are important later on. Take note of what you will. *insert sly winky face* Arthur contacted Ariadne…will she be upset with him? Too busy to care? What would he even say? Next chapppppieee! Please review.


	3. No Landline

First and foremost, thank you to the lovely _Elvenya_ for following the story. (Maybe you could tell me how you like it sometime…lol). And reviewers! _Guest_: Hope I can keep you loving it. *crosses fingers.* _Nina.4444: _Thanks, thanks. _Lauraa-x: _Aww yay that you like the team together because most of them are mostly that way for most of the story. Mostly. And that John Moores is a silly sounding thing, isn't he? Lol. _FredNeverDied: _Yay! I love long reviews and feedback! Yeah, flashbacks are always integral in my stories. Idk why. I love them though.

Ok things are about to heat up.

**Chapter 3: No Landline.**

"This is Ariadne. Unfortunately you have_ not_ reached me. But if you leave your name and number, I'll try to reach _you! _Have a great day." He could hear the smile in her voice and found himself smiling as a result. Phrases and fragments ran through his head as he formulated the right words to leave her with—_Hey it's Arthur, just checking up on you. _No…maybe: _It's Arthur. Curious how you're doing. Call me and let's catch up. _No—_It's me. I miss you—_the truth, yes, but no. However after the beep an electronic voice cut him off and spared him the choice, "We're sorry. This mailbox is full. Please call again later."

What time was it back in Paris? Almost morning by this point. If she was even in that city... He dialed the number he knew by heart (the one still saved as home in his phone) and waited to see if she'd answer that one. His heart sunk. Another electronic voice informed him that the number had been shut off and that phone was no longer in use. She must've moved or switched cable companies and bundles and forgot to inform him. Or didn't want to inform him…at least he still had a working mobile number for her and depending on what timezone she was in, it could be the middle of the night and she was fast asleep or it could be in the bulk of the day and she was busy sketching her ass off for some extractor. He'd call her in the morning to catch her at a more convenient time.  
xxxxxx

He woke up checking his phone to see if there were any missed calls or voicemails during the night but the notification screen was tauntingly bare. There was a text but it was only Cobb asking if Arthur would do the coffee run for the morning before he came in. Arthur went about his morning routine. Brushed his teeth, gelled his hair, pressed and steamed his suit for the day, folded and repacked clothes, gathered all electronics and chargers needed for the day and ordered breakfast. Today an egg white, spinach, feta and sausage omelet with hash browns, toast and orange juice. As soon as he was invigorated and prepared for the day of work ahead, he tried Ariadne again on the drive to the warehouse. His thumb tapped the against the steering wheel while he counted the rings. One, two, three, four, five, six- This time instead of her greeting and an inbox full message, he was told her cell service had been dropped. Had she seen the missed call from him and changed her number on purpose? No, somehow that didn't seem right. Didn't seem like her.

He headed straight for his desk and broke out the laptop. Time for the recon he'd been putting off. First? Ariadne's phone records. 60 un-played voicemails and over a hundred unread texts which varied from, _"Hey girl, what are you doing Friday?,"_ to _"Haven't talked in a while. Just checking. You didn't come to Nick's birthday party yesterday"_ to the most unnerving, _"Getting worried, can you let me know you're ok?"_ She normally paid six months in advance every six months because knowing her she'd forget the due date for the bill or she'd be on a job and not be able to pay it and her phone would randomly shut off (not ideal if you're practically stranded in Buenos Aires.) But she had paid that a couple months before they broke up. The company's archives showed no record of recent payments. No technical difficulties reported, either. Next he looked up the home phone account…only incoming calls, no outgoing. The phone itself had been shut off for three months. Next, he examined their flat. The water, the power? _Everything_ had been off for three months due to lack of payment. He found emails from the landlord asking them about the rent. Asking if they were ok because they were never late on payments before and finally, an eviction notice. She hadn't been in that place for at least three months. Where was she then? Jobs could last three months, right? Yes. But you would know the rough timeframe before involvement…and Ariadne would've paid ahead to ensure she had a home to go back to after.

If she wasn't spending money on her dwelling and communication methods than what was she frittering it away on? Arthur decided it would be wise to inspect her credit card purchases. Verdict? No activity for four months on any of the cards. The Architect hadn't drawn any money out of checking (any of them) to use as cash. All of her hidden accounts for employers to wire in money remained as they had before he left. No income either. Ariadne hadn't even touched her savings. She had been-for all intents and purposes-inactive since he'd left. It sent a chill down his spine. So he called Cobb over to relay his anxiety. "What do you mean she's been inactive for three or four months?" Cobb's eyes squinted.

"It's all right there; pull up the tabs." Arthur gestured towards the computer and threw the printed documents of the phone records in a folder. He was planning to print the next batch of info once Cobb was finished, "No activity whatsoever since I left." The Point waited for Dom to review his findings by pacing his work area. When Cobb hummed in a stumped manner, Arthur paused, "'Hmm'? What do you think?"

The Extractor grimaced, "Uh…I don't want to alarm you but half of these pages have error messages and won't open. And according to Visa, Mastercard and Capitol One…there are no credit accounts open with those numbers."

"Are you kidding me?" Arthur leaned towards his computer, "Everything was there five minutes ago…Something's wrong, Dom. I need to find Ari."

Sighing, the blonde shrugged. How could he be so unaffected by this? Did Dom not want him to find her? "What?" he asked the older man, meeting his tired, calm eyes. The latter answered, "I don't know. Don't you think it's a little more than coincidental that the morning after you call her, she starts to disappear from the face of the earth? Maybe she doesn't want you to know where she is…maybe she wants you to leave her alone…"

"I've considered that," blinked the Point Man, "But it's not like that girl to ignore _everyone's _phone calls for months. She hasn't called you to check on the kids like normal, she hasn't called Eames or Yusuf, Miles hasn't talked to her."

Cobb gave him a stern stare, "I would imagine she's hurting. After the way you broke it off and _over work_ at that: I don't blame her. You were together almost two years. I doubt Ariadne has had other relationships last that long. I shut the world out after Mal died."

"If it were based on her contact with others alone I would be satisfied with that theory. But entire month's records and information are being wiped in under a minute. Ariadne is intelligent but she hasn't had the time or equipment to perfect the art of invisibility. I'm not aware of anyone who could complete those tasks in a few minutes timeframe other than myself."

A surveying glance was cast across the room by Cobb, "So…what? You think professionals are dumping all traces of her?"

"And doing it as we speak."

"She _does _have the money to hire them." He resumed after Arthur gave him an offended eye, "Ariadne's no fool. She knows if you want to find her you will…even if she doesn't want you to and especially if you thought it 'best for her'."

Arthur scoffed, "Unbelievable. You seriously think she paid people to _hide her from me_?"

"I think—" He gave a thoughtful pause—"Ariadne is a young woman who's been wounded deeply and needs her space. I think she's not ready for you to sniff her out yet." He received a blank gaze from the Point. "Can you not comprehend that you might've _really _broken her heart?"

"Can none of you comprehend that she most definitely broke mine?"

Just then, Eames sauntered over. He sensed the tension surrounding Arthur's desk (more tension than normal) and felt self-obligated to know what they were yacking on about. He knew this mission had been too good to be true from the start. They'd probably walked into a mouse trap—the governor wanted their help so he could pin them down as dream criminals…how could they have been so idiotic? "Care to share with the class gentlemen?" They (more-so the Point) explained Ariadne's virtual evaporation. A few more sites came up as Error 404's and her bio and grade book were stripped from the University site. Followed by: her degree audit, her tuition payments, her student ID number and picture. In just under five minutes, Ariadne's college career was erased as easy as a kid with pink rubber. Maybe the others had thought about the possibility but they hadn't voiced it. So Eames took the liberty, "You don't think she joined those Hoods, do you? I mean for good?"

That was something that hadn't crossed the Extractor's mind. His eyes widened and he made a cursory glance to his friend before he dragged, "For her sake, I hope not. From what you told me, she really believed she could help stop those counterattacks and—well they haven't stopped but-the frequency _has _lessened. If she hasn't been home in months and you insist there's something fishy here then I'd hazard a guess that she's been living with them." There was a sinking feeling in the Point's stomach when he realized that was the theory he'd been looking for. The prospect he'd been waiting for one of them to bring up. Arthur hated that that vile inclination you get when something's dipped in shadiness, happened to perfectly match the one he felt when they mentioned that group of people.

"If she did you'll never find her." Arthur glared at the forger but Eames continued on his way, "Unless the Hoods _want_ you to find her. Otherwise, the only way you'll ever converse with them is if _they_ want to find _you_ and make good on it."

"Ariadne was only contracted to spend a month there. Her commitment to them is over." Argued the tallest of the three. He insisted something was wrong here.

"You know how those things go, Artie." Eames waved his hand, "You sign up for a month, you gel with the team and you want to work with them over and over."

Arthur debated still, "You two read those contracts. We reviewed their files. Those people aren't the type that _gel_…if they do its false and manipulated. They're practically a cult." Slowly, he was regretting his decision to let her do what she wanted.

Eames shrugged and joked, "Then Ariadne probably isn't even Ariadne anymore. She has a new _cult_ name and bathes in the creek and pees in the woods…"

"They would find a way if she wanted to see you, Arthur." Cobb added and reassured, "so I don't think she does…as harsh as that sounds."

Arthur stormed away from Cobb and Eames, hitting Eames' shoulder forcefully as he did so. Yusuf looked up as he marched by him and out the front door. When it slammed so hard the metal walls of the warehouse threatened with shakes and echoes, Yusuf yelled over to the Extractor and Forger, "What's wrong with sourpuss?"

xxxxxx

He wasn't going to sit back and accept that Ariadne truly wanted to be hooded. Not when so many things could've happened. Never mind that she loved what they seemed to stand for. If she wanted him to leave her alone and let her morals wither away then she would have to tell him herself, not run and hide from him. He disregarded Eames and Cobb's opinion and went with his gut feeling. He spent the better part of the day searching anagrams of her name and hoping anything would come up—plane tickets, passports, anything. After _two_ _weeks_ of watching the skies, he tried to accept that his friends were right and Ariadne was a proud member of the Hoods' dream division and wanted nothing to do with him. One particularly quiet day, Arthur's phone rang. An unknown number on the other side. He pressed the button to answer and took a breath to greet but had no time before he heard,"Arthur?"

He stood, eyes wide, frame rigid, gripping his totem, "Ariadne?" Upon hearing her name, Yusuf's ear pricked up. Cobb and Eames had discreetly filled him in weeks ago. Cobb halted his diagrams on the whiteboard and listened intently.

There were too many emotions ripping through Arthur's veins: Delight in hearing her voice. How could he have forgotten the exhilaration he felt when she would say his name? Then there was relief: She was alive…though he hadn't thought she was dead but it was nice to reaffirm it. And she had called him. Then there was realization and concern after the breathy and urgent tone in her voice registered. Then unwavering curiosity surpassed them all, "Where are you? Where have you been?"

"I can't tell you."

She sounded tired and wounded. Arthur was not pleased with the notion but chided lightly (almost like he was joking), "Like hell you can't."

"I'm at a payphone. We're finishing a job somewhere. I can't talk long. I just ne—miss your voice."

So she'd thrown herself into constant work? Well—he'd rather that than the prospect of her still in the company of the Hoods. But he wasn't sure of that yet. Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose, "Please tell me you aren't with _them. _Tell me you're not still hooded." Her silence was all the answer he needed. "Shit, Ariadne." He gritted but tried not convey his disappointment in her. After all, he had no say or right. His eyes locked with Cobb's and his friend abandoned his workstation to join him at his desk (he detected Arthur was fixing to learn something worse). Arthur dropped his eye contact with Cobb in favor of his desk when her voice rushed through the receiver.

"Not voluntarily. I turned them down." Dom wasn't the only one who caught Arthur's entire back tense by the folds in his shirt. Yusuf saw it and exchanged inquisitive looks with the Extractor. The Forger knotted his brows and fell into step with Cobb on his way to Arthur's desk. "They don't take no for an answer. Ingams—has been a Hood for years, they—they've been planning on taking me since the Greenpeace job."

"Wha-?" He breathed. She didn't seem to hear his interruption. "He's been watching us for them all year. He knew where we lived. He'd been sending pictures of us to Wolffe—" her voice started shaking matching the movement of his head. Eames leaned around the side of Arthur's desk to look at him—trepidation present in his eyes and his actions. The Forger found Arthur's eyes ever searching, ever distressed. "They wouldn't let me go after the contract was up… And they—" _They what? _The manner in which she said 'they' was unsettling. It pulled his thoughts down a path that froze over his blood.

"Have they hurt you? Have they touched you like—like_ that_?" grunted the Point. At this, the three friends of hers wore frowns and clenched fists.

"Not all of-just—just—"

Arthur didn't care if it was all of them. The fact that some of them-even one of them had-The knowledge that any of them had dared to think of her that way was infuriating. He demanded gravely and out of sheer rage, "Who? Tell me who. _What_ have they _done_ to you?"

"Please don't make me answer that."

Her whisper sent chills through his spine so much so that Cobb and Eames—who were standing the closest to him—could see the goose bumps raise on his arms from where the sleeve was rolled to his fingertips. She'd been there for four months. God knows what all these people had done. The team practically felt the reverberation when Arthur closed his eyes and used his determined to kill voice, "Where are you?" he commanded, "I'm coming to get you right now."

"I told you I can't say. They've got eyes on you. If you hop on a plane tonight they'll know why."

Yusuf made his way over as well now, wringing his hands together, listening as the Point pleaded with her on the phone, "Please let me come get you. I can fix this, Baby; Just give me a hint and I'll figure it out." In the background he heard the air split and glass shattering far off in the distance.

"I've got to go."

"No-wait!" Shouted the Point. His fingers buzzed around on his keyboard and he connected a cord to his cell phone in a last ditch effort to trace where the payphone was.

"Please, just let me hang up." She sounded nervous again. Her words ran together in panic. As if the devil was fixing to appear and eat her alive. The program was converting into landline mode. Arthur began tapping his foot, "Just stay on the line a few minutes longer; I can trace you."

"I don't have a few minutes. I've _got to go. _They're coming."

His hands uncharacteristically shook as they fumbled over the keyboard, "Seconds, Ari, I only need seconds. _Please_, baby, stay with me."

"If I'm not back in the van before they are, they'll kill me. And you. And the Cobbs. I've _got-to go._"

The program was connecting to her number: the bar at 79 percent and climbing with decent speed. He stared hard at the screen. When the team heard him assure her, his voice was in complete opposition to his bodily anxiety, "Ok. Listen…I'm coming for you—Remember that for me. There's only 20 percent to load before a full connection. Just leave the phone off the hook."

Another ear bleeding sound ripped through her background and caused static on the phone. "I've-_got to go._" His heart stopped. He looked for solace and discovered it could not be found in Yusuf, Cobb, or Eames' eyes. "Second, sixth, seventh, first, fourth." There were gunshots muffling her words. Why were there gunshots?

"What—Did you hear me? Leave the phone off-"

"Down not across." He opened his mouth-"The number you're trying to reach has been disconnected." His screen glitched and canceled the task. **No landline or payphone number. Check connection and try again.**  
xxxxxx

It's probably evil for me to enjoy when people say they want to give Arthur and Ariadne hugs _now (_when the plot has just really started.) Review, Review, Review pleeeeeease.


	4. The Architect's Descent

Hi! Thanks for the words! _Guest:_ glad the pace is going pretty well for you and no, thank **you** for reading and reviewing! _nowarning23: _Can I just say that I just love you? Let's form a fanfic bff alliance. I love your work. Anyways…happy you're enjoying the pace. Annnnd I don't know, what _is _going on here? _Elvenya: _Loving the feedback =) _Lauraa-x: _I know…poor _Arthur_…_he _must have had it so rough. And you're reaction to the clue? Totally his. Too bad we have some catching up with Ari to do before we visit our Point Man and his investigation again. Oops…did I reveal too much? _ . : _Thank you! _Lazarus76: _Lol I was tense trying to write it. _consultingcydoniantimelord: _You're a timelord?! Ah! Anyway…yay! Edge of the seat is good in my book.

Ok. Has anyone missed Ariadne? I have. Let's see how our Architect has fared, hmm? We're jumping back to see what she's been up to in the months Arthur's has been drowning himself in work and trying to give her space and not do recons on her.

**Chapter 4: The Architect's Descent. **

**[Four Months Ago]**

When Ariadne woke up she felt more than utterly alone.

The presence of Arthur was nowhere to be found. Even in the little things like his totem on the nightstand, the dent where his head laid in the pillow, his cufflinks and cologne on their—her dresser. She had hoped when she woke he would still be there; that he would've been unable to leave her. She blinked at the door, still expecting him to walk in in his freshly pressed suit, joking about how sleeping beauty had finally awoken and teasing her about sleeping so late (but of course eight thirty was late to someone who rose with the sun every morning at six). The Architect didn't even bother looking at his side of the bed; dragging her feet, she rolled out of the covers and padded to the bathroom. Mechanically, her morning routine set into motion. She washed her face, brushed her teeth and went to put on a pot of coffee. While it brewed, she decided to stay busy. To never stop for a moment in fear of having to think about what had happened. So she was off to make thei—her bed. If there was one thing Ariadne was known for (besides doodling) it was restless sleeping; the fitted sheets always ended the night pulled from the corners, the comforter on her side untucked from the foot of the bed and the top sheet floated in the middle somewhere, twisted around her like vines. It was no fun task straightening everything out and tucking the respective covers in the right places especially without aggravating teasing being hurled at her to detract from the monotony. When It came time to sit the pillows at the headboard, hers revealed a red and white pinstriped shirt crumpled underneath.

Arthur's scent filled her lungs before she buried her face in it and intensified when she automatically put it on. His shirt was like an overwhelming heaviness on her back, covering her chilled skin. It floored her but calmed her and soothed but drained…much like (but way different than) any drug that had ever washed her into sleep. Ariadne sunk to the ground with her back against the bed. Fiddled with the cuffs. Buttoned and unbuttoned them with a gentle veneration.

"_I like that shirt on you," the Point leans up on his elbows. She was certain he was dead to the world when she got up to use the bathroom, put something (anything) on (she didn't want to wander around in her birthday suit if he happened to order up breakfast or something…) and brush her teeth. But here he is, expectantly waiting on her as she surfaces._

_Ariadne hops back on the bed and lies on her stomach facing the tv. She powers it on quickly, Rachael Ray is about to start and if Michael Fassbender isn't reason enough to watch today, the thirty minute meals are always entertaining. She's rocking the hot shorts and a bright blue sports bra but all they comment on is his dress shirt, "I like it on me too." She's not paying attention to him. The beginning montage is flashing on the screen and the audience is clapping. "Ariadne." Yes, she hears her name. But it's sort of weird because the last time she heard it—she blushes furiously prior to finishing the thought. I mean where do they go from here? She's acting like nothing happened because Arthur can't possibly remember or he would've made up an excuse to throw her out or something by now and the air would be full with the awkwardness that its…already full of._

_His face appears down by hers. His body mimics her position. "Do you think we should to talk about it?" Her eyes cut down from her beloved cook's. One shoulder shrugs. Oh crap, she's offended him; his eyebrows are crinkling, "Do you regret it?"_

"_No! No…I just don't know how to react. I mean, we've never had—it was the first time we've—"she's red as a cherry tomato. Or the stripes in the shirt he wore to dinner last night. The color in her cheeks physically stops her from continuing to speak. _

_Arthur smirks, "You're right. It _was _the first time we've _made love." _Ariadne knows he's amused with the deepening scarlet running down her neck and off the tips of her ears. His whisper tickles one of them, "And I certainly hope it's not the last." _

"_It might be if you mortify me to death before then." She avoids his eyes and picks at the hems of the cuffs._

"_Sorry, I'm sorry." He kisses her shoulder. She can stop wondering whether the tingles where he kissed last night were real or a result of her glass of merlot because it's there. It's definitely real and burning through the thin fabric of the shirt. "Thinking about it just makes me happy." Ariadne melts when she turns and sees his rare dimples sinking into the side of his face. "And I like making you blush." Her eyes roll but they can't detract from the smile she's trying to hide._

_Arthur rolls to his side and props his head on his hand, "Want a fun fact?" _

_She copies, fake glaring, "Depends…"_

"_The day we first met: After our first dream together, I thought I might want to wake up next to you every time I woke up." And it's borderline weird because this is clean cut, dressed to the nines, stand offish Arthur telling her these things. Telling her with ruffled hair, sweatpants and a giant boyish grin. Like he's her age. Like he's a human. Like he's a man with feelings. Deep feelings. Deep feelings for HER. It's surreal. "And though you were kind of already up and gone earlier, now, I _know _that I want to."_

_Ariadne thought if she swelled with any more joy, she'd pop. The Architect rolls over the Point and smirks down at him, "Fun fact…the day we first met, you were wearing this shirt." _

"_I know." For a second, she thinks she's said something wrong because the grin disappears and the Point Man face and voice is back. Of course he knew what he was wearing. He knows every detail of everyday. It's his job. The change actually grounds her back to reality though; reminds her that that's who she's with. That the Point Man and The Lover are the same person. Two sides of the same coin. "That's why I love it on you." It reminds her that even the robot can be sweet, even the business man has sentimentality. And ultimately she sees for the first time that no matter which version he chooses to be, they've reached a point where he's simply Arthur when he's with Ariadne. No matter which face he decides to put on for the moment, if she looks in his eyes, they soften just for her._

"_Me too."_

Only when the Keurig beeped was she pulled out of her reverie and into the kitchen. The day continued with the Architect in a trance…like she was sleepwalking. It was funny: Eames had always warned her that Arthur was bound to break her heart. That he was too rigid and closed off to care for her the way she cared for him. Yet, Cobb was constantly in her ear about breaking Arthur's. One evening during the intermission of Philippa's fifth ballet recital (one that Arthur, Ariadne and Miles had visited from Paris to see) when Arthur had retired to the men's room and he and she were left in the seats alone, Dom had bluntly requested, _"Don't break his heart." _To which her befuddled self stuttered, _"W-What?" _And he confessed, _"He's a different Arthur around you. He worships the ground you walk on; I've never seen him so happy. I know you haven't been dating long now but I think you're it for him." _She remembered her eyes widening like saucers and being at a loss for reply. It was back before they'd moved in together, before their first year anniversary, before they'd ever been intimate, before they had even said 'I love you' for the first time. Yet Cobb already saw where it was heading. He knew they were fixing to plummet fast and hard for each other. He already realized what she hadn't. _"I know you're young and probably want to play the field—which is fine—but if you do, please do it gently. You could do some real damage to him." _ Ariadne could still recall when Arthur had come back from the men's room: his arm resting on her chair behind her shoulders, him pulling out a box of Raisinets and presenting them to her with a flourish. She'd memorized that moment. The exact moment she recognized Cobb's truth in Arthur's every move. When she identified the way he looked at her, the way he murmured _"Your favorite, Madam…", _how he leaned into her touch when she kissed him on the cheek in thanks. There was an intimacy in every touch, look and every word that she hadn't noticed before. It was in that moment she knew he'd felt the exact same way she did; that she wasn't the only one desperate for the other. They weren't just two people dating anymore. They weren't just a new couple. This wasn't going to be casual fling like they'd assumed. She missed the push and was in mid-air before she knew it.

And now she was on the ground and reality had hit her with the collision. Both Eames and Cobb had been right: they'd shattered each other's hearts. How two people could be so in love and yet so heartbroken was one of the paradoxes she wished Arthur hadn't taught.

_Did _she love dreamsharing more than Arthur? Was the promise of adventure worth it? Sitting in his shirt, unaccompanied in the kitchen, drinking her coffee unusually black and staring at the clock apathetically—Ariadne didn't think it was. Certainly the job that had started the fight wasn't worth losing him over. There would have been other jobs after…he just wanted her to refrain from _one particular_ job. Not everything ever. If she'd just agreed, they could've compromised. He would've never been pushed to ask to quit altogether. He wouldn't have had to make a choice. And if the rest of her team—all of whose opinions she trusted and respected—thought against it maybe her head wasn't in the right place. Was she _too_ optimistic? Going in, teaching how to extract and persuade and then expecting them to change their ways was a big task. Yes, it very well could give them a better alternative for making companies see the consequences of their actions…but it could also give them more fuel for the fire. Eco-terrorists? That is still a _terrorist. _Would dreamshare have stopped the 9/11 attackers? She went into the living room and retrieved the thirty three page document from the coffee table to read over again.

The contract was for a month in their facilities, under their watch, chained to their guidelines and decisions. If they decided they wanted to blow up a paper mill she would be under contract to go into the field with them whether she agreed with their mission or not. Had she not read it thoroughly enough the first time? Or maybe it was because she had been looking at it with a different, hope filled mindset. She shouldn't have signed it. So Ariadne tore it up and put it in the trash. Perfect timing too because then her phone rang with the pair's good friend David Ingams on the caller id. "Hey, where are you? I thought we were gonna meet up at my place and ride to the meeting together?"

"Yeah." After a quick survey of the time on the wall clock, she sighed, "I'm sorry David. I went back over the contract and I mean _really _studied it and the more I think over it," Her eyes grazed the text of the last page again (the only page still intact), "the more it seems like a bad idea. I feel like it's just short of signing my life away—"

"You already signed it, though. We signed it together at the café. Don't make me do this alone."

The page is ripped in half, both halves crumpled and thrown in the bin by her feet, "The Team's right."

David scoffed, "It's just a month."

"Just," she repeated, "Arthur says it's never 'just' with people like that. If you're_ just_ a pawn in their huge agenda then they'll figure how to rope you into more. I don't feel comfortable jumping into something like this without the rest of the team, after all."

"Oh come on Ariadne," coaxed Ingams in what sounded like a whine, "Remember what we talked about? It's the power to save innocent lives."

The Architect pursed her lips and corrected, "Or the power to damage them more. Look, I'm sorry. I'm not doing it but I hope everything works out for you."

He hung up on her.  
xxxxxx

After dinner, as she was washing her plate and shoving some spaghetti down the disposal, there sounded a knock on the door. Quickly, she opened the scissor drawer and pulled out the handgun for protection before she looked through the peephole. It was only David and she'd wondered how the meeting went so she answered. "Hey, how did it go?"

The gun was snatched out of her hand from behind and when she turned three hooded figures were in her living room and one was staring down at her, "That's a question you should know the answer to." David stepped inside, slammed and locked her door behind him (wait but how did he get in in the first place. It was dead-bolted when she checked the peephole) and pulled his own moss green hood over his eyes. "I told you to come, Ariadne. I didn't want to have to help them do this."

The feeling you feel when you're leaning back on the last two legs of your chair and accidentally push too far? That's the feeling the Architect's stomach filled with. A sharp fear all the way down to her toes. Like a kick except there was no waking up. The three figures standing scattered in the living area with hoods of dark brown moved ominously closer to surround Ariadne and The Hood closest to her—the only one in black. His voice hummed when he spoke. It was velvety smooth and if his presence didn't smother the room with a dangerous aura, it was a voice that could soothe her to sleep. "David told us that you'd both signed the contract together and yet you stood us up. That isn't a very professional thing to do."

"I signed it before I really understood—" miraculously, she found words to say.

The Black Hood cut her off, "But you signed it. You're our property."

Ariadne spit back, "I'm _no one's _property. Besides, I tore it up; that makes it null and void," and gave them a curt half smile.

She swore she saw teeth before she heard, "Search the place."

David and the three other Hoods dispersed through her apartment. She watched and tried to bite her tongue as they flung cushions off the couches and opened drawers, leveled bookshelves and picked through her trash—"Wolffe." The taller of the Browns handed the Black shreds he'd found in the bin by the kitchen table. So that was the Black's name? Wolffe? Maybe it was his last name…didn't sound too kind and heartwarming of a guy. The man aforementioned picked through her hand torn papers and found a half (Damn. Why didn't she tear it into tinier strips?) he could salvage. A perfect rectangle bore her signature. A chuckle bubbled from the black hole his hood made of his face, "And there we have it." Wolffe displayed it proudly in front of her face, "You're agreement in full effect."

She should never have signed it. She should never have signed it. She should never have signed it. She should _never_ have signed it. She should never have _signed_ it. She should never have signed it. She should never have signed _it_…What would Arthur do? What had Arthur told her to do in a situation like this? Ariadne formed a stone face, determinedly swallowed down the increasing bubble in the hollow between her ribs, tried to hear anything besides the pulse in her ears. "Now I trust you read the clause about the consequences of breaking contract. They're anything but pleasant…and I would find great displeasure in having to assert those punishments on a pretty thing like you. That's a waste of potential." Glossed were his words. Ariadne's blood went from chilled in fear to boiling with annoyance when his hand reached out to tuck her hair behind her ear like she was some china doll that would conform because of the steamy look he was trying to seduce her with or something. Out of nowhere, Wolffe caught an object Ariadne hadn't even realized was being tossed across the room but rapidly identified as her cell phone. He grinned, "Perfect, now we can monitor your outside relationships and delete your existence when people start to miss you." The lock screen lit up as his doing and revealed a picture of her and Arthur, the park behind the Eiffel (they had had a picnic for her 23rd birthday and it was her favorite because it was the best of the few pictures she'd luckily caught Arthur's dimples in.) "Who's this?" The Black Hood didn't wait for her to answer, "Ah…Ingams did say something about you and the Point Man having a fling…" he handed it to the same Brown that threw it. Ariadne watched as her phone was sealed into a Ziploc back and slipped into his cloak. Cruelly, Wolffe, pouted his lower lip teasingly at her, "I heard it didn't go too well. Not together anymore are we?" The Architect's teeth bit her cheek. "You'll get over that real soon, I promise." His hand brushed down her shoulder again and she involuntarily shivered when the feel of his fingernails lightly scratched her. And it definitely wasn't the type of chills that came over her when Arthur did the same.

"Brothers." He called to the rest of them and they—including Ingams—left the flat without word. Now she was alone with the Black. She leant away from him but he didn't say or do anything else like the above. "I will give you fifteen minutes to collect personal effects and supplies. No electronics whatsoever. Your phone lines have already been cut so attempts to call the police or your Point Man would be futile. If you choose to leave with us, your one month will begin and we'll pretend as if our misunderstanding never occurred. If you choose to lock your door and remain inside or try to escape out your two bedroom windows or the fire escape in the study—we will have to identify you as a prisoner of war." He waited until she could only see his back in front of the door before he let his hood fall. Wolffe's black hair had been shaved close to his head and various scars and closed up gashes were visible on his scalp. It made the Architect even more uneasy that the man who seemed to be the leader, had himself been deeply injured. It was a fleeting relief when he stepped out the door into the unsuspecting streets of Paris and left her standing on her own inside.

Ariadne had no choice. They were partly right. She _had_ signed it. (She shouldn't have signed it.) The Architect had at one point agreed and that was enough for them. The Hoods would not take no for an answer. They would not relieve her of the contract on conditions of cold feet. And realistically…how long could Ariadne run from them by herself? With them sitting outside every possible entrance and exit of her apartment? Four of them had broken into her home and crept up on her before she could sense a change in the air. There was no choice but to do the job and pray she did it well enough that they'd leave her be afterwards. Without dawdle, she pulled out her duffel and filled it with jeans, sweaters, scarves, her toiletries, her sketchbooks and pencils, protractors and rulers, she could live with her one pair of shoes so she skipped packing those…and last but not least—Arthur's shirt. Ariadne contemplated leaving a note for the landlord to contact Arthur, or a note for anyone that came looking to give them a hint to where she'd disappeared to…but the possibility of the Hoods re-entering and searching her house for those kinds of things afterward changed her mind. They were thorough. They wouldn't be gullible enough to let her leave and not make sure she hadn't left clues of her whereabouts. There was a reason the Hoods lived invisibly.

When she walked out of her flat, one of the Browns was standing on her steps with his hood off to ease suspicion. He only briefly moved his sunglasses to give her a once over; his green eyes were hard and they squinted unattractively small and his hair was shaved to his head to mirror Bruce's. He gave no smile from his full lips as he took her bag and silently motioned she follow him down the side of the building and into the alley. Once in the corridor of the streets, in the shadows of the day, his hood once again covered his eyes. Ariadne kept in step with him even as his longs legs traveled with speed—At the end of the alley where it curved into a back street waited a black SUV. The Brown who'd escorted her held out his hand to halt her from coming any closer to the car and went around to throw her duffel in the back. Whereas the rest of her collectors were in the vehicle, The Moss Green Hood—the squealer, David Ingams—was leaned against the open door with a cloak folded over his arms. Ingams pushed himself off of the SUV and walked the few steps to Ariadne and held out her hood. Hers was a muddled, rustic burgundy color and the feel of it when she shrugged it on was heavy and scratchy, almost woolen. Ariadne swallowed hard and clenched her fists for inner bravery while David pulled her hood over her eyes and then guided her into the SUV with his hand on her lower back.

And in a matter of seconds, Ariadne was Hooded.

They took her to the airport and caught the first available flight to the area near their headquarters. All of their hoods were stashed away in favor of peacoats, trench coats and beanies to blend with the crowds. The lone detail that gave them away—at least to Ariadne-was that they donned sunglasses…inside. Other than that quirk, it baffled the Architect how they could all look so normal; how they could treat the passing travelers and flight personnel with politeness and respect like kind strangers. She'd read in one of Arthur's criminology books that most sociopathic criminals could be falsely charismatic to gain trust—he meant to show it to her as a joke about Eames but the menacing way they'd treated her in her home and then the social butterflies they were now was proving his point. The first class cabin had been bought out by the lot of them but she was never left alone. Despite the roominess of the empty cabin, one of the Browns sat directly in front of her, one behind and the last in the seat beside. Where they thought she could get to on an enclosed vessel hundreds of thousands of feet in the air was beyond her. Another black truck was waiting for them outside the airport and the ride was long. It concerned Ariadne how tinted the windows were… almost like a wall of black. Surely over the federal law limit. It wasn't the legality that troubled her of course only that her safety was in the driver's hands and if she had to press her nose against the glass to see outside…than how was _he_ seeing through the windshield? She watched the orange-ness of mid-day fade into a dark blue (except it really just all looked black) and watched the rear window, struggling to keep her eyes on the city lights as long as possible. The car turned into an icebox quickly and she was ignored when she asked them to turn the air conditioner off. It blasted into her face and on her feet and as much as she wanted to rip the cloak off, she used its thickness to wrap herself up. Soon they were off any known road, not even following the dirt path anymore. The vehicle made a turn into the woods and though it may have seemed that all the driver did was dodge trees, there was a worn tire track path he followed. After an hour, of twists and turns in an endless sea of browns and greens they came up to a rock formation covered in limply hanging moss. It had a wooden door like any normal house would; Not that Ariadne was high maintenance but the thought of spending the next month in a rock with who knows how many other people was less than thrilling.

After being told, she hooded herself once again and followed the Browns and Ingams while Wolffe pulled the car into an etched out hole and a sliding door with a surface that blended with the rock and elephant ear plants shut after him and created the illusion of a solid side of the rock formation. One of the brown Hoods sauntered over to her and challenged, "Think you can find the way in?" She looked at him as if he was joking, "You mean the door?" He shrugged and made the 'after you' motion. Ariadne eyed him wearily but tried the handle—it was unlocked. The door swung open and revealed—the rock? The Brown hood received a confused glare from Ariadne. There was nothing but a frame, hinges and the door. No oddly shaped parts of the rock to press on, no cracks, no secret levers or pulleys…Then he belly laughed at her, "I love doing that to newbies."

Another Brown scolded him, "Mac, you asshole."

"Frick you, Grant," Mac retorted.

"Hey Red," The third Brown—the one who'd waited on her doorstep in Paris—was the one to show her. It took a beat for Ariadne to realize he was addressing her by the shade of her hood. "You already passed the door. And the skylights."

"What?" Her eyes shot upwards. Were they in an invisible lair?

Once he moved, her eyes were glued to him for the answer. They followed him several paces back and observed as he crouched down to the ground. She heard beeping of some kind and then the hatch was opened. It was a passage down and down and down with tight steep stairs. The man who'd just addressed her hopped in and started his descent. David followed and waved at her to do the same. The two Browns left (Mac and Grant) jumped in after and when the last one had, he reached up, slammed the hatch down and turned the wheel until it clicked. It was pitch black. Ariadne froze and death gripped the thin, good for nothing, rusted rail. Felt around with her foot for where the step she was on ended and the next one began, after all she didn't know how far of a fall it would be. Though if she guessed, she'd say it was never ending like the rabbit hole in Alice in Wonderland. A series of electronic sounds followed the click and with two last loud beeps a string of lights (the size but nowhere near the illumination of generic white Christmas ones) flickered on down the sides of the stairs. Enough illumination to see their feet only. And that was pushing it.

The downward slope was endless; it was easy to lose track of how many steps they'd covered. Ariadne started out the journey counting them to help her balance like she did when she was two and helped her baby cousin do last Thanksgiving at her Aunt Helen's multilevel house. The Brown hood before her was descending with a comfortable speed and she seemed to stumble as she did her best to keep up with the other practiced Hoods on her tail, patiently waiting for her to get her footing. Or one of them was patient. Mac—the asshole, she decided to agree upon—actually kicked at the back of her knee and nearly sent her spiraling to her death to pass the time.

At long last, they reached the bottom-a destination Ariadne had started to think they'd never arrive at. That would be on an episode for the next season of Mythbusters. The tunnel like staircase opened into a vast underground complex. Once they turned the corner, warm lights lit up the outline of the area and she could see the different modern day devices and architectural details built into the rock around them. It was a masterpiece to her. The main arena they stood in was roughly the size of a standard high school auditorium. Flatscreens showed security footage of the woods on one side and more screens monitored random people (persons of interest she assumed) from all over the globe. There were three stripped wooden tables in the back at the center. The longest set across the middle and the other two facing longways on the sides with mix matched bar stools along the edges to create a panel of sorts. The wall behind that were several clocks, some digital, some analog with an etched plaque of the city it was set to coincide with. Another tunnel like staircase opposite of the one she'd come out of but farther to the left was the one the Black hood—Wolffe—had just stepped out of. Ariadne assumed it led to the compartment the SUV was hidden in. The arena only extended to the right, with three different boxlike hallways—or tunnels—you could maneuver through.

The Browns dispersed when Wolffe winked at them and stated, "The others, please." His hand gravitated towards Ariadne's shoulder, "Come on Red, let's meet the rest of your _new_ Team." The Architect nodded mindlessly, still marveling at the spaciousness. She heard the clap of Wolffe's hand on Ingams' back and looked where the noise came from to see them heading towards the wooden tables. Out of nervousness, she picked the stool next to David to be comforted by the closeness of someone she'd known and trusted. One by one, other Hoods trailed in from the boxed halls and picked their own chairs and when those filled, they stood. Across from her was a rust colored, brownish orange Hood. On their left, a dark navy blue hood. While Ingams in his Moss hood was in the stool next to her, on the other side and another stool down was an aubergine purple Hood.

Wolffe, in black, at the head of the middle table announced, "Welcome to the Worldwide Organization. I assure you my fellow Hoods are as enthusiastic about our new division as I am and we are all—across the globe—eager to welcome you into our family as we take this next step." The crowd that gathered (there's at the _very _least a hundred) applauded and howled in appreciation. Ariadne couldn't help the tension in her muscles. Especially since it only took the raise of Wolffe's hand to silence the room. "Our first task will be the oil company responsible for the recent leak into the Mississippi river. We'll start with extractions of the company's financial records and under the table sins and then scare them shitless as a warning. Mac," he turned the attention to the Brown hood standing behind him whose turn it was to speak.

"Everyone will receive specific instructions, living guidelines, and restrictions based on their occupation in the Organization. This is also determined by the shade of your hood. Traditionally all brothers and sisters are hooded in brown, we live in equality. The founders-also known as the advisors-are hooded in black. We have given you a separate color scheme to differentiate you as part of the new division and to be able to quickly identify whose profession is which." Mac stepped back and Wolffe began speaking again. He pointed towards Ingams, "David Ingams for example-please stand—is your Extractor and hooded in a green tint." Second, his hand moved towards Ariadne. Her heart sped up and her face flushed as she followed David's example and stood. "This is your Architect, Ariadne Bourgeois, hooded in red. Next to her is Brannon Vargas, the forger, he will wear purple…In the navy is _our_ Point Man," strangely his eye cut to hers, "Mr. Kenji Nyada. And finally, in the orange is Mila Nguyen, our Chemist." The newly formed team exchanged glances around the panel. Some of them sized the rest up and some of them seemed harmlessly curious (none seemed as uneasy as Ariadne). "Now our projected attack date," continued Wolffe, "is a month from now: October 21st. What makes this goal a challenge is the scale of our attack. We plan to infiltrate the minds of five integral personnel. The Chief Executive Officer, the Chief Operating Officer, the Chief Financial Officer, the Chief Informations Officer and the Chief Administrative Officer."

The Point, Kenji, questioned aloud in stark doubt, "And how do you plan on getting the five of them together at once?"

"They're having a Contract Management meeting in which they all have to be present to discuss and vote on their new branch and oil rig location. We have a Hood on the inside that's been able to confirm."

"And the timeframe allowed for the dreams?" Ariadne's head twisted towards David who'd jumped right in easily. Like he was meant to be here.

Mac clipped, "An eight hour work day."

Then the chemist (Mila in the Orange) put in her two cents, "If we're looking at not only extraction but mind manipulation…that's time enough for two dreams _maybe_ three."

"It'd be nearly impossible to do five in the allotted hours even with the slowed bend of time in the dream," Agreed the Forger. All of them looked at Wolffe bewilderedly…this is when Ariadne found her voice. "Actually, it is possible." All eyes squinted at her and waited for explanation, "The further in the dream you drop the longer we have. All we have to do is send each of them multiple dreams down from the start and use _that_ timeframe to complete each individual job."

"Multiple dreams aren't stable enough for that," argued the rusty colored hood (the Chemist) as if Ariadne didn't know what she was talking about and just because she played around with bubbles all day that she was superior to the one who drew lines. So Ariadne smirked and rambled off Yusuf's technique from Inception. "No, they can be more than reliably stable when the Somnacin is paired with a sedative. So long as you keep the inner ear function unimpaired so we can still kick ourselves up and out."

"That's why I wanted _her_." She heard the Black murmur to Mac and felt self-satisfied. "Now how about a tour?" The team stood and huddled near Wolffe like a tour group and stared at the three box openings. All that was missing was him holding a paddle with a tour number on it and all of them flashing picture, mused the Architect. "The far left is the tunnel to the living quarters, the middle is where you'll find your work stations and the right corridor leads to the eating grounds and behind that the passage to the P.O.W cells and the Consequence dig. Like a pack, they traipsed behind him into the left tunnel. The same lights that had lined the stairs from the hatch ran along the ground at both sides of the hallway and rectangles of strangely shaped white light hit the ground. Looking up to see where they came from, the Architect caught sight of the skylights mentioned earlier, the sun still shone through them, only creating shadowed splotches where the leaves had fallen over them. The end of the box-like hallways funneled open into an area as large as a football field with rows of closed-boxes very much like cubicles but larger. Each had a sliding, automatic metal door and code pad. For reference, Wolffe swiped in his universal card into one of the pads and showed them the inside. It was just like a master bedroom but very boxed, dark and chilly with an attached bathroom. Everything hard lines and simple, no embellishments or personal sentiments lying around. But they followed him down a row into a rectangle cubicle at the end of everything. The inside was set up just the same but instead of a single bed there were several beds screwed against the wall like bunk beds and a stall formatted bathroom…They had to share_ this_ for a month? "I know it's not ideal but really you'll only end up sleeping here and only when you find the time." Her duffel bag had already been thrown on one of the bunks for her; she barely noticed before they were on their way out.

From there they twisted and turned and found their workspace. And thank God it was more impressive than their sleeping quarters. They had wooden desks like the wooden tables in the main arena set up in corners with the supplies each needed for their unique task. Ingams and the Point Man, Kenji, had the PASIV, extra needles and tubing, a desktop computer, file cabinets, a whiteboard and cork board. The Chemist's desk was unlike the others in that it was vinyl for easy cleanups. There were test tubes and Bunsen burners, funnels, measuring cups, a cooled refrigerator with ridges for the different size containers. On the wall beside her were hooks holding face masks, gloves, scrubs in case they were needed and safety goggles. The Forger's desk was the least exciting of them all because his work was mostly done in the dream but his desk had a file cabinet and a mirror. Ariadne's desk looked like paradise. The Hoods had given her a whole corner of the room for all her supplies. And a desktop computer with software so she wouldn't have to sketch everything by hand but all the utensils she'd need if she wanted to. There was a plotter and graph paper and foam board—she couldn't wait to get to work.

The dining hall looked like that of Hogwarts with rows of long tables and another corridor in the back leading to cells. Thankfully, he hadn't taken them back into that section because the yells of pain she could hear over the din of the room was enough to make her sick to her stomach and feel guilty about her anticipation to start working. Clearly, the Hoods hadn't thought that floor plan out very well. How were they all eating contentedly with the sounds of moaning bodies close by? They were given the rest of the day off to get accustomed to their surroundings. It would take hours for Ariadne's eyes to get used to the darkness alone but so far the next month didn't seem like it would be _that_ bad. She could make it through this successfully and before she knew it would be back up in the light, home in Paris and free to really start her dream career.

Or so she would think.  
xxxxxx

Hmm…thoughts on Wolffe and the Hoods we've met so far? Ingams…trustworthy friend? This job seems pretty drastic, I hope the Dream Division isn't being set up to fail. :L What do you think? Ariadne could probably survive the next month alright, eh? We'll find out next chapter. As always feedback is mucho appreciated.


	5. Surface

Sincerest thanks to _Lauraa-x, Elvenya _and_ nowarning23. _So far the consensus is that the job seems far-fetched and Ingams is a pretty good guy. I really liked the idea of color separation of the Hoods too, so I'm ecstatic you guys find it neat. Oh and _nowarning23: _Please don't take offense to when I said I wanted to shoot myself. I adore your story…I just meant that Arthur frustrates me. That emotional involvement is also partly why I love it.

Anyways…..

**Chapter 5: Surface  
(timeline continued from previous chapter.)**

Life underground got monotonous after a while. Once The Architect had acclimated to the environment and got used to the high caved ceilings, the technology mixed with nature and the adventurous feeling tunnels…seeing the same things everyday got boring. A week hadn't even passed before she started to miss light. Any light. Bright and garish fluorescents or natural warming rays of sun or anything in between. Anything that wasn't an oil lantern, a candle or low task light that gave off just enough to see for work. Another thing she missed already?

Sleep. There was a certain amount of work they were expected to accomplish as individuals and then as a team by the end of each day. And while that may seem normal considering teams such as the Inception one had the same standards…it was warped. The team was given an overabundance of tasks and insufficient time to do it in (all under the claim that they were being challenged. That it would improve their skill and work ethic. Not to mention, the scale of their mission. Without the schedule the Dream Division was on, there was no chance in hell they'd pull it off.

They were held accountable for what they didn't finish on deadline. On the third day they'd been there, the know-it-all Chemist tried to reason with the Hoods that she had done enough for the day and that testing the effects of one of the additives could wait until morning. Unwisely, she retired back to their quarters and headed to bed without permission…none of them dared leave the workroom without checking everything off the list again. Wolffe and several Browns herded them all to the 'Consequence Dig': With cells that were nothing but an etched out space of dirt and rock that looked like unfinished tunnels. There was no drain… just dirt thrown over dried blood. It smelled metallic and rotten and the moment they dragged her into the hallway of cells, Mila began to go back on her word. But it was one of the Hood's ten commandments that once said, once signed, once done, there is no taking back. Wolffe's black Hood apologized to their Chemist but said it was necessary. That they must treat everyone in the Organization as they do their enemies. That they couldn't have double standards and call themselves saviors of the planet. "The Hoods can't live as hypocrites" he said. Everyone is responsible for their actions and no matter the regret you cannot take them back and must suffer for them. You must live in a constant state of consciousness of everything you choose to do or not do. Being forced to watch them whip Mila with a switch made Ariadne think what they really wanted everyone to live in was a constant state of fear…of everything they chose to do or _not _to do.

But for that reason, the team worked well into the hours of the morning to complete the day's goals. They might finish at three am and have to get up and start over at six or seven. There was no trumpet that sounded and woke them up in the morning, or alarm, or anyone coming in flashing lights in their faces and making them get into the workroom. Actually, their schedule was (ironically) relatively free other than the set times food would be prepared for them. They could sleep in until ten or eleven if they wanted so long as—again—everything they agreed to accomplish was accomplished. Their Point Man, Kenji, had made the mistake of misjudging his time and attempting to catch up on his sleep during week two, day five. He'd had to work from eleven am that day to seven am the next to get all the research required turned in. And then, since he'd learned his lesson, he had stayed and started work that day at seven am to finish which brought him through to 2 am the next morning. Thirty-nine straight hours of work…but at least he wasn't sent to the Con Dig for it. The Purple Hood—the forger—and Mila, the Chemist in the Orange hood-who everyone took to calling Rusty because of the color—were considered the lucky ones. Believe it or not. Since The Purple had originally come from North Carolina and Rusty had been held there a couple weeks longer for other chemical work (the Hoods wanted to trial her abilities before signing her on), their internal clocks were somewhat normalized. Ariadne and Ingams had come from Paris and the Point had flown in from Mumbai. The three were hot messes. They were already turned around from time changes and jetlag before this crazy work schedule.

The Hoods pumped them with healthy things to keep them going, though. Freshly caught, cut and cooked meats, greens and fruits. They had a lot of fish. Ariadne guessed that they had Hoods that went out into everyday traffic like at the airport and blended enough to retrieve the seafood. Even if they fished, the coast was several hundred miles from their location. The vegetables and such, The Architect learned, came from the brotherhood's gardens. And the meat they ate—venison, squirrel, things she couldn't name, were hunted. A few miles out, surrounding the Hood's fort, was what they called their hunting grounds. Snares, tripwires, teeth traps, pits, all of these served a double purpose. One: they caught animals for the organization to feed on. Two: they made excellent booby traps. The Hoods made it clear that they lived off the land as closely as possible. They never ate anything processed. However, the Architect was dying for coffee or herbal tea. Or anything with caffeine really. She was fairly certain this is what a slow death felt like. A root beer float to celebrate this grueling job's end was definitely a fixed point in her future…surely one large glass of soda and ice cream wouldn't leave a permanently damaging eco-footprint in her wake. And if it did, well, she'd been good and self-sacrificing enough for the environment to earn it.

Ariadne was positive the team pulled together out of survival instinct alone. Day one of week three, with the job deadline impending, they were expected to have all levels completed, every character and detail checked and tweaked and to have performed three full successful run-throughs for each mark with Wolffe and his fellow Black Hood, Liv, as tourists to assess. None of them ate that day. They slept two hours between the day previous and got up at five to work until midnight that night. Besides brief mindless conversations during meals and questions about their job, the team didn't talk much. They became a well-oiled machine together but they were not friends. They were not a close knit team as the Inception one had been. They were just all gears that fit perfectly into one another and worked cohesively to move the hands of the clock. They had the same purpose, the same goal and the same paralyzing fear of failure; it didn't matter whether they knew the other's favorite color or how they preferred their tea as long as they knew that the bridge on the first mark had to be 'x' feet tall and the kick would be synchronized by the second verse of Take Me to the River by Annie Lennox. Not that they didn't respect each other more than they had when they'd met or admired another for their talents or liked them as general human beings. But they didn't joke with the other, they didn't know about each other's pasts, they didn't idly chit chat or hug or even high five a job well done. A smile was a rare and special gift if you got one. There wasn't time for all that anyways, though. And talking and smiling was using energy they didn't have. She _did_ remain close to David throughout their work. He was reassuring. Something familiar, something from her life in Paris and that alone helped her through the rough spots. And Ariadne wasn't sure if it was just a woman thing or whether her and Rusty (Mila) had actually connected. There was an easiness and a comfortableness of having another girl around. They tended to gravitate towards the other when sitting at meals or being called to meetings and such. There was barely a word contributed to their friendship but a weird trust between them nonetheless. Which was humorous because they couldn't stand the other their first day in the pit and had an unspoken, ongoing competition between them the first few days in the Dream Division's workroom. What cured that—Ari supposed—was the assistance Mila needed in starting out the first mixture of sedative and Somnacin. The Architect helped her by guiding Rusty through what she remembered Yusuf had done. Of course she didn't know specific terms but Mila filled in the blanks. After that afternoon the small animosity was replaced with a modest comradery. Or at least a tolerance.

Wolffe was a Nazi about monitoring them. From day one, he'd waltz in four maybe five times a day for progress reports or behavioral checks. There was a Brown hood assigned to sit in the room with them and 'observe' at all times named Grant. Actually, he was one of the chosen ones who'd collected Ariadne from the apartment. The one who called Mac an asshole for tricking and tripping her—the mutual dislike for the pain of a Hood is why she suspected she felt an odd connection to him too. Besides the fact that he'd had to escort them back and forth to their quarters and accompany them during meals so they were forced to spend copious amounts of time with him. He gravitated to her and Mila. Almost like a protective big brother which was hard to believe considering the average Hood behavior. He never said a word to her, other than a passing 'cool' at one of her models or to interrogate her on progress for the Blacks but he'd smiled once (tight-lipped but still) and that gave him brownie points.

Ari wouldn't have been surprised if there were hidden cameras in their workspace to critique their every breath. For "the exciting new division in the Worldwide Brotherhood" or "new members to the Hooded family," it definitely seemed to the tiny Parisian that they treated them as mice in a maze instead. Experimental chimpanzees. Kids in the sweatshops. She made a list in her head one day during lunch to keep her lids from giving in and shutting. For being equal and all that shit they were sure pushed around by the Browns and looked down at by the Blacks and not because Ariadne was shorter than them all. Everyone around either didn't notice or they didn't say. They just kept acting like everyone was a leader in this cave and they were all best friends, brothers, sisters, environmental warriors. Gladiators for the cause. One for all and all for one type stuff. Which would be lovely, Ariadne thought, if it were true. They claimed to be different. But like in every government, every team, every group, every collaborative organization everywhere…There is _always_ someone in charge. You could say there isn't but sit back and watch and see who everyone puts the utmost trust in. Who advises, who punishes. There is always a figure to answer to. Only in cults is that a secret. Bruce Wolffe was too involved in every aspect. He was always the one a Hood went to for guidance; they had to make sure it was "good for the Organization" before they could act. Yet, why was he the only one approached for the good of the organization. Why didn't the entire brotherhood vote? Why didn't all of the Black Hoods meet, discuss and vote? Sure they possessed more pull than the Browns and obviously way more than the Dream Division. But Bruce…_he _was running this show, Ariadne realized early on, and she was eager for her curtain to close on this insane production. That's why…

Ariadne wasn't too pleased that he took a liking to her. Since day one, he plainly assumed he could manipulate her with his good looks (he _did _have nice features and bright eyes) and gruff, velvety voice. But it was creepy to have a hooded figure—one you barely knew. One you just met. (Sorry but call this a family all you want she wasn't familiar enough with him yet)- guide you with their hand rested on the small of your back. A hand that crept lower and lower the longer it guided. To adjust your hood for you and run fingers along strands of your hair while you tried to work. It was even worse when his hood was off. His eyes were different when they met Ariadne's than when she saw him look at anyone else. It was like his ice blue eyes were undressing her in his mind. Like he was inside her head and playing around and she didn't know it. Like he was sizing up just how to pounce on her like she was a gazelle and he, a lion. Eames was always a flirter, she was used to him and his ways. The Architect even enjoyed his attentions. She found them hilarious, entertained herself with coyly joking back. It was all in good fun. Even when they alluded to dirty things. It meant nothing. But Bruce meant something by his attentiveness. And she didn't feel bubbly and humorous when he would act that way. She would just feel dirty.

It was awkward and distressing for her every time she felt his presence in the room but she tried not to tense her muscles where he could see lest he think he should take the opportunity to repeat Week two, day four: where he caught her alone (after everyone else on her team had completed and went to take a two hour nap) and coerced his way into rubbing her shoulders to relieve the knots. After feeling the way his hands rolled over her like he owned her? That was enough for Ariadne to avoid ever looking sore again. And truly, she was devastatingly stiff from looking down at her desk nonstop. On the whole, she avoided his eyes and merely conversed when it had to do with the job: Yes. No. Shoulder shrug. Nod. Shake. Ari didn't want him getting any ideas that she favored the contact or desired more or thought of him as anything else but her tyrannical boss. Wolffe was either very stupid or utterly oblivious but _most likely_ too enamored with himself to get the hints. Or feel the distance. He never called her by her actual name. He decided he would call her 'Red.' Affectionately, too, like the shade of her cloak was a pet name of some sorts. (Slowly but surely it spread and nearly every Hood in the hatch began to address her by it.) In hindsight, Wolffe's favoring of Ariadne was probably another reason she stuck close to David, Mila and Grant.  
xxxxxx

Today was the day. After a month of working night and day, nine to five (haha, she wished. More like one to twenty-four but that's a lesser clichéd expression) with little pause in between, their plan was coming to fruition and the Architect hoped her own plan of replacing nuclear warnings with cognitive ones would as well. That would be the one good thing she could make out of all this—changing violence into dreams. Well, and she had crazy endurance and work ethic now. Ariadne could handle any job the Dreamshare World wanted to throw at her. She could thank the brotherhood for that. They were right, her skills had been enhanced. At that point, if we're being honest, she couldn't have cared less about all the things mentioned above because more than anything, Ariadne was ecstatic to be leaving. Going home was the biggest reward for her labor. It was hard to concentrate on the job before her because of her anxiousness to get out.

She'd had a decent night's sleep the day before. The team had strict orders to eat at five thirty pm and get to bed so they would have proper rest and rejuvenation to take action in the morning. (Yeah, _now _the Organization cared about their sleeping habits.) After all their flight to the jam destination left at five thirty-eight am. That put them there at seven forty-one if the flight went as scheduled with enough time to get to the Company Building by nine. It didn't take persuasion to get the team in their beds and in a deep slumber. It took more to rouse them the next morning. Understandably. The group was greedy with the z's they could steal.

Morning came with promise for Ariadne. She was groggy…but pushed through it to repack her duffel, eat her spinach omelet and meet at the stairs to the hatch. Inwardly, for the first time in that month period, Ariadne felt humor inside her. The girl attempted to contain her smile as she followed her fellow Hoods up the steep passage, running the lyrics to Stairway to Heaven in her head (that would be the humor. We won't blame her for feeling giddy). When the Brown at the front reached the top and typed in the passcode to open the hatch, she held her breath. The Hoods in front of her pulled their hoods over their heads and looked down but Ariadne had anticipated it too long to follow suit; Ariadne looked up and chewed on the inside of her cheek. _Come on…Come on…_And finally, in a sweet rush, light poured in and warmth was abounding. It was cozy at first. Made her feel alive again. Her blood moved free of the cold…

But Ariadne was nearly blinded. _So that's what the Hoods are really for. _The world was all white and she couldn't see anything but spots. If the Big Bang theory was true, than what she saw was _definitely_ what the Universe looked like when it happened. The Architect squinted; her eyes watered and ached and never before had she pulled her hood over her head so fast. Never—in the entire month she'd walked the tunnels—had she wanted that piece of clothing and appreciated her ownership of it so deeply. Ariadne continued to feel like Helen Keller as they helped her up the rest of the stairs. Her eyes kept their focus fixed firmly on the ground (wherever that was, assuming it was beneath her feet). They fluttered automatically and the hand that wasn't squeezing the rail like a python was blocking the sun where her hood couldn't reach.

It was as difficult to find her way back to the world as it was to disappear from it. Her feet shuffled along the length of each stair and felt for the next one up. The closer she got to the top the harder it was to move, to see, to sense. Someone pulled her out of the hatch at the top and—literally—she could not see anything but blank colorless space around her. (Yes. Technically black is the absence of color and white is all of them together at once. But her middle school art lessons were escaping her brain presently). Arms guided and pushed her. (Probably away from the hatch hole so she wouldn't fall in.) Despite her hood and the scattered trees above providing shade, light was everywhere. All encompassing. Too much of it, all over and eating her up and her eyes felt like they were going to explode. Why did she think she missed this, again? The tiny Parisian's hands grasped over her head. She shut her eyes and crouched down to her knees. Curled into herself to create as much darkness as she could. Lovely, comforting, darkness. Ariadne couldn't see where she was, she could only feel hard ground and the wisps of grass that tickled her skin.

Then, other senses kicked back in. Sound for one. She picked up the crunching of leaves, the chirping of birds, an airplane overhead, the rest of the Hoods' voices as they climbed out, her heart drumming in her ears, wind blowing through the trees and making the leaves sing and the collection of them was unbearable. Was everything always so harsh and busy and noisy? All those sounds were grating. Grinding. Every one of them like nails on a chalkboard. Why couldn't see go back to the silence and the low hum of the underground civilization?

It was too sticky up here, too humid. The wool of the cloak made her hot. Made her sweat in bullets. She hadn't been sufficiently warm- much less—abnormally hot in weeks. It was like they Hoods had stuck her in a fire pit. Had they? It's not like she could've seen if they had. It was tempting to rip her clothes off and jump into a vat of ice water… but Ariadne wouldn't dream of taking off the cloak; it was her only protection from the searing light. Overwhelming light. Chill bumps-she felt chill bumps all over. Her legs, her arms, down her back…but she was so hot, how was that possible? She began rocking. Began to feel nauseous. The bile crept up her throat with salty fingers—Too warm, too light, too loud.

Too warm, too light, too loud.

A bulky, calloused hand fanned across her back and rubbed slow circles. Ailing, soothing, quelling circles. Heavy breaths were leaving Ariadne and she was almost successful in her struggle to swallow back the need to throw up when she heard Wolffe's voice sail into her ears through all the other din, "It'll be over in a few minutes. Don't worry, Red. It's always hard you're first time out." Lips touched her ear and shifted her hood in the process. Her squint wasn't only because of the amount of light let in with the small adjustment of the fabric but because of his sing-song whisper, "I'll take care of you."

The necessity to throw up came back in full force.  
xxxxxx

Next chapter we'll get to find out how this seemingly impossible job went down. There will be some things touched on that were brought up in chapter two. So if you feel like going back and reading over it so you can catch them, that's something to do. How are you guys taking the lifestyle of the Hoods? They're hardcore…really big on consequences and what I like about the next chapter is we get to see some consequences in action. Some decisions Ariadne has to make and how they get her to make them. Reviews are awesome…please, please let me know how this brotherhood is shaping up to look like for you. Or if anyone is still reading this. Thatd be nice to know too. :)


	6. Red Sand, Yellow Van

Hello again! Let's start off with thank you's: _Lauraa-x: _Yeah the way they eat and stuff isn't so bad, pretty healthy actually. And Wolffe is very creepy, trust me. Thank you for letting me know someone is reading :). _Lazarus76: _It's perfectly fine, life does that. Thanks for the words! They encourage me to update faster. _GarthFitzgerald: _I HAVE BEEN WAITING for someone to pick up on that! Yes, yes, there is most definitely a red riding hood undertone going on here. First one to catch it, good on you mate! _Musicismyheroine: _Sorry…unfortunately, I wanted to catch up on Ariadne before they reconvened and so much more went down with her during the time between their calls than it did for Arthur. Which we read was pretty mundane. You'll get more Arthur ( a little in the next chapter) and the rest of the gang very soon, though, I promise. Help me get through these chappies first!

**Chapter 6: Red Sand, Yellow Van.  
(timeline continued from previous chapter.)**

Someone with light and skinny fingers pulled her hair and some of her hood back—Rusty she suspected. Wolffe had moved away to load the van. Some of the blinding light had faded and she could at least see the ground just in front of her. Another bulkier hand with a Mossy sleeve—must be David—set a bucket in front of her. She wondered why he wasn't as affected as she was. Rusty she understood. The Chemist had been here a few weeks before the job and she must've already been out once and been through it. But David was escorted here with Ariadne; he spent the same amount of time down there as she did. Unless, the Hoods had allowed him to do surface work on the down low…but when would he have the time? They spent the entirety of it together in the workroom. He was always there in the desk across from her. There wasn't ample time to analyze it before she emptied her stomach. More and more of the world was coming into view as her eyes adjusted. She squinted. Looked beside her and found The Navy and Purple Hoods crouched down and retching like her. The Point, however, was more colorful with the language that slipped out of his mouth. Rusty had left Ariadne's side to get in the vehicle as a Brown came and stuck an ice cold water thermos in her hand. He and Ingams allowed her some time to rinse and spit into the bucket and gulp half the bottle down before they helped her to her feet and from there she stumbled her way to her seat. Her team mates slowly pulled themselves in behind her.

It all made absolute sense now.

As soon as the doors were closed, Ariadne could open her eyes to the full extent comfortably. The tint from the car windows made the light or lack thereof in the car regulate their vision to the familiar but very different surroundings. It felt like a superpower now to be able to look through the wall of black glass and see as plainly as she would a clear window and with the blast of frigid air from the air conditioner, the chills subsided and her sweat dried. Soon her shaky breathing had returned to normal puffs and the Point returned to normal language.  
xxxxxx

They had no choice but to ditch the cloaks once they arrived at the airport. They were stuffed into the bottom of their carry-ons and everyone stood in the fairly empty parking garage adjusting themselves. The Architect already had on her trusty jeans, a Henley, signature scarf and combat boots but threw on a jean jacket for extra measure. The sweat had done a number on her curls so it was all pulled up into a neat ponytail and for finishing touches (or more for the sake of her eyesight) Grant handed her a pair of large sunglasses as she slung on her backpack. Ready when she was, Ariadne turned to look at Rusty expectantly. The Chemist was also dressed in jeans, though a button up, a Peacoat and flats were more her style. She already had her own sunglasses and was in the middle of pulling her hair back when she nodded at Ariadne that she was ready. See, the two of them were going to walk in together from the parking garage as two early riser friends on their way to Arizona to hike for the weekend. The car would pull around ten minutes later and drop Wolffe off. He would arrive in a suit as a business man going home. They would leave on the 5:30 flight. The SUV would leave the airport and drop off a Brown at the Radisson hotel. Roughly ten minutes in between, his prescheduled shuttle would take him to the airport but not before the Point Man rushed in from the drop lane upset, argued with his lazy brother (for waking up late and making him miss the 5:30 flight) and "begrudgingly" went through the motions to get on the next plane. Then the Forger and the last Brown (Grant) would walk in one after the other from the parking garage. And they would all take flight on the 6:15 to Arizona.  
xxxxxx

At 8:27 the last of them arrived at the Company building. A Hood on the inside (one who'd been working undercover on this since the spill in the Mississippi) had gotten them in one by one through glitches in the security cameras and hid them in his office—which was strategically placed across from the boarding room. On the other hand, Ariadne (who was forced into a skirt suit on arrival) was chosen to show up with Wolffe through the front door and sit in on the meeting as "representatives from GEO-FUEL" a smaller oil business their targeted Company had been "in talks with" to buy out. It goes without saying that a GEO-FEUL Inc. didn't exist…but their website, drill site permits and bankruptcy files were exquisitely faked. "Ah, and you must be Mr…" One of their marks, the CEO, welcomed them into the board room with handshakes while Wolffe cut him off and lied, "Eames. William Eames." Ariadne's game face faltered briefly. He was going to pin this on her original team if it went wrong. She _had _wondered why he hadn't "punished" them for turning the organization down like she almost did with all of their talks of consequences but it's not like she was complaining—she hoped it'd remain that way. "And this is the vice president of GEO, Mallory Cobb." Thankfully her reflexes were fast enough to turn her gasp into a cough in the elbow of her sleeve, from which she smoothed it out by smiling graciously and firmly returning the man's greeting. (Miles had taught her how to properly handshake before he sent her on her first work placement interview. When a man shook a man's hand, it had to be steady and concrete. It told the receiver how much respect you had for them and how much you demanded in return. For a woman, it had to be twice that. As if to say, I'm twice the man you'll ever be but in heels. Ariadne liked that idea, so she caught on speedily as she did with everything else.)

The coffee was spiked with Rusty's sedative…and they dropped like flies. It worked fast enough on each of them that before one could question the collapse of the other, they were out. Ariadne face planted forward sometime after the first man had just for looks and Wolffe had yelled, "Call the Ambu—" before the last one fainted. Ten beats they waited. The Architect sat up and went to unlock the door while Wolffe pulled out the PASIV and began setting up. It was a dingy one compared to what Ariadne was used to. Mostly because it had been smuggled so it was an older model where the connection of the leads to the PASIV were manual plug ins instead of already attached and coiling out and the timer was on the back cover of the case where you would otherwise store extra Somnacin containers. It didn't look too pretty either; a banged up, chipping, black case compared to the shiny silver of Arthur's? The Browns and her team filed in like soldiers. The team would surround their current mark, so they would move each time but the browns stood in between each businessman with a somnacin soaked hood—or potato sack—in case one of them woke up. Wolffe insisted on putting Ariadne's lead in for her…his grip was too stiff and tight, his eyes too alighted with mischief and his thumb too liberal with its circles over her veins for it to be as charming and comforting as the person who normally did it for her. At least he didn't try to copy Arthur in kissing her wrist before he stood. The Architect didn't let it bother her; she rolled her eyes when he wasn't looking and shook it off because in eight or nine hours she would be on a plane away from them all.

The CEO was first. They took him down three levels before they started the process. It was only supposed to be a nightmare on steroids to scare them out of another drill location. The forger forged the CEO's secretary and informed him that the rest of board decided on a location outside of San Francisco (where he and his family lived.) Then they pulled out the big guns. A spill in in the waters near the golden gate bridge, animals dying in the backyard of his multi-million dollar mansion. The forger then transformed into his wife, angry, wanting a divorce. _Look at all the damage you've caused, Brock! _And finally, the trickiest part of all, the complete disarray and break down of the city's inhabitants. That was a reason the actual levels had to be completed and ready to go so early: so they could use a week on drills for this section alone. It was definitely dangerous. Especially at three levels down—just a bullet away from limbo. Why? Because they had to tip the projections off. With the signal from the forger, everyone pulled on their hoods in the dream and pulled out guns. Once Ingams found the safe and turned over the information to Wolffe, they made certain security found them and then all hell broke loose. The team darted through the streets drawing attention in their menacing hoods. In full swing, the projections started breaking windows, buildings were collapsing, they charged the streets and then swallowed up the estate looking for their dreamer—the Forger—who was strategically placed inside the house with the CEO who believed these angry citizens were coming for him with figurative pitchforks and torches. Ariadne had mentioned the use of music for synchronized kicks. The Forger waited until the last second—on the high pitched note of one of Annie Lennox's greatest hits to grab the CEO and throw them off the deck of his house and down the cliff just as projections were coming in from the doors and the ducts and the windows and just as the kick a level above was performed. Ariadne was sprinting down the golden gate bridge, ducking behind crashed and static cars from gunfire when she heard the music and dived into the waters.

Ultimately she opened her eyes three times. On the last, gripped her totem to make sure there wouldn't be a fourth. The CEO already had his head bagged in the potato sack to keep him unconscious. Once everyone thankfully awoke, Wolffe gave them a nod and they moved down the line to the next victim. The rest of dreams followed the same theme or plotline but was catered to each person's specific role in the Company. For instance, the CFO of finances: Instead of having a huge oil spill in his backyard, the Company went bankrupt due to his advice. And then the Oil business went into the hands of a monopolizing new Company and the economy crashed (further). Blamed him alone. No matter the situation, it always ended with the provocation of the Projections and everyone in the dream frantically running for their lives before the permission to kick up. There were too many close calls for Ariadne to count or be satisfied with. She was shot in the stomach in the fourth mark's dream and had to hide under the bed in an abandoned house while she bled out, hoping that the music would come and she would have enough strength to pull herself up and fling off the first story. But she made it! She was awake in reality, shaky but awake her totem assured. After setting up bugs and hidden cameras to monitor the executives' decisions and determine whether or not a counterattack would need to be made, the lot of them left as they'd come. Of course when the company big wigs woke with Wolffe and Ariadne absent they pinned foul play on GEO-FUEL's representatives—William Eames and Mallory Cobb-one of whom was dead on further research. In the convenient window of time given her by the Hoods (they gave her a virus on a USB to crash the computers across the hall with) an anonymous email was sent to the real Mr. William Eames at one of his alias' emails: 'pytelplumbing1 .'

_You've been framed.  
Stay away from the US and home for a while.  
Gatu-Geaux Oils wants to fry you on a stake.  
_-_Friend.  
_

No trace back to the company or to Ariadne's fingers would be possible through the system dump to follow. Plus she'd been wearing gloves. Neither Gatu-Geaux nor the Hoods would be the wiser to her tip off. Sparsely, the intruders collected behind the building into a stolen taxi van and began speeding down the highway. Arizona was dry as a bone and the sand surrounding them on either side of the highway could only be described as an ocean. It rose and fell when the wind scraped the tops. Besides the cacti and the occasional Armadillo, Ariadne could fool herself into thinking they were in Egpyt or the Sahara. An hour passed on that one long road crammed in the back of a bright yellow van before the Point Man became concerned. "Shouldn't we have come to the airport by now? It didn't take this long to get there." There was an awkward silence swirling in the space above their heads. Or at least it was awkward to Ariadne even though she'd been deliberating the same question. Ingams was the one to answer from the passenger seat, "We're not going to that airport. We've got a small privately owned plane picking us up in Tucson to take us back."

"That's in the opposite direction, though. We're heading towards San Diego." The Point Man lowered his hood and squinted at them, suspicion on his face.

The van swerved off the road and into the sand creating a gust of dust. The brakes squealed and the car stopped dead in its tracks with a reverberating jolt. Ariadne's head had hit the driver's seat in front of her, stars were everywhere in her vision and she felt a warm trickle of blood leaving her nostril and running down her lips and chin. She looked to see the Forger beside her holding his head crouched between his knees, the Chemist breathing hard and holding her heart. The Point Man had a cut on his head from what she didn't know but the front seat seemed fine. They must've expected it and braced themselves; the same answer reached her when she twisted her head to the back and saw the Browns only jostled. From the front, Wolffe's voice howled monotonously, "Exactly. We couldn't murder someone too close to the city." Everyone sobered up _then_. Tensed. "_Someone _thought they could get away with connecting to the outside world…" Ariadne's blood turned to ice and she held her breath, "but no matter what service you've been to the brotherhood, no matter how much we like you… You must suffer the consequences of your actions._ Everyone_ is accountable." The Architect tasted metal in her mouth and realized she'd bitten through the edge of her lip. "I'm sorry!"In a whoosh, a potato sack came down from behind her and bagged the Forger's head without acknowledging his apology. She pulled her knees to her chest and leaned as far into the window as she could as his body disappeared into the backseat and his kicking legs were dragged back and out of the trunk. It took three Browns to slog him through the red sand and air bending heat. As hard as it was to watch, Ariadne could not make herself look away. Wolffe exited the vehicle in her peripheral vision; the rush of air hit her with the slam of his door. The figure in the dark purple hood flailed and begged. It was muffled through the glass of the window so all the Parisian could hear were grunts and wails; her face flushed when the Browns obstructed her view by standing in front of him and her eye caught his knees hitting the ground between their legs. There were two more pleads that preceded the unmistakable sound of a gunshot. Wolffe and one of the Browns stepped away, the more domineering of the two twirled the gun on his fingers and stuck it in his waistband. The last thing Ariadne witnessed before she tore her eyes away from the window and down to the floorboard was Grant taking the Purple cloak and ripping it out from underneath the body, the lump of flesh rolling with the force. Was she the only one who watched? The car had been silent apart from her own gasp—Even the Point didn't open his potty mouth and curse creatively. She chanced a look at them. Kenji was sourly scowling and Mila's blank stare at the seat in front of her was dream team was scared shitless and voiceless. Inside Ariadne's mind, she was selfishly thanking God that it hadn't been her. That they hadn't caught her. When the car dipped with the weight of extra Hoods clambering back in-Ariadne gulped—maybe she'd spoken too soon. Would she be next?

But the car started back up, pulled out of the dirt, made a U-turn and zipped down the road. Ten minutes from then, David's window rolled down as he cackled and threw a cellphone out the window, "Son of a bitch thought he could swipe a phone from the CFO while we were in the same room…"  
xxxxxx

They passed the first exit sign to Tucson before they pulled off into the Arizona desert again—this time farther, to the point where the road they'd been on was a line in the horizon. The taxi shut off and Wolffe, the Browns and Ingams got out of the car non-chalantly. Like they were fixing to spread out a gingham blanket, pull out a basket and have a picnic. Not like they'd just shot a bullet through a man's head. Ariadne bit at her nails waiting for enlightenment on their detour. Wolffe knocked on her window and The Architect's feet dug into the car door and pushed her away. This was it. They were going to shoot her execution style and leave her for the coyotes or the vultures to eat and apparently the Black hooded man was anticipating it with fervor because he was grinning at her. The car door opened, her eyes widened and he spoke simply, "Our plane should be here any minute…You should get out. It's actually cooler out here."

Briefly and confusedly, her, the Point and Rusty glanced at each other before filing out. They stretched their legs and surveyed the area distractedly. All three only had one image in their minds and it was the spray of blood, redder than the sand they trudged through. No sooner had David leaned against the van next to her did the sound of propellers rocket through the sky and a rickety looking plane landed feet away from them. The engine kept running. The Browns and Rusty were quick to get on. Contrarily, the Point halted with one foot in and one foot out, "So this will take us to the airport?"

Grant corrected him from the pilot seat, "No. We're going back to the woods. May have to make a fuel stop on the way though," he addressed the last half to Wolffe who shrugged from outside and added, "As long as it's organic."

"What if we're not going back with you?" inquired the Point as he retracted his foot from the stairs.

"Excuse me?" Ariadne heard Wolffe's voice resonate behind her and calculated that he was very, _very_ close.

She fought to keep her shoulders back and her stance unwavering when the Point elaborated and dragged her 'under the bus' with him, "Ariadne and I were planning on going home, actually. Her to Paris and me to Kenya."

"Oh?" Was the only reply. Ariadne carefully pieced together her game face and pivoted. Wolffe's eyes were trained solely on her and his eyebrow raised challengingly. She straightened her posture upon the mental picture of Arthur's defensive stance. Her instinctive fire raged through her belly and caused her to open her mouth smartly. "Yes. Our one month contract was up yesterday."

He rolled his eyes and turned the reins over to Ingams, "You know how I want you to deal with this." And then he stepped into the plane without a second look. The Point stepped in front of Ariadne and reiterated, "You heard her. The contract is up. We only agreed to one month." Ariadne took a deep breath in time with David's sigh, "You agreed to a month with the understanding that the job would be complete. We don't even know if your dreams were successful yet and if they weren't we'll need your eyes and hands to plan a counterattack. Our war with this company is not over."

"Screw your counterattack. Screw your war. I did what I said I'd do…now I want out. What are you going to do? Sue us for 'breaking contract'? You cowards gonna come out of hiding and get a lawyer? I'm sure the legal system would love to see what you're up to." He yelled. "Fuck your bullshit. You're a bunch of cultists. I'll walk back to the airport if I have to." He flipped off the man in front of him and turned to storm away, "Come on Red. I'll help you get ho—" Four loud bangs rang out over the propellers. Ariadne's heart jumped out of her chest and her eyes locked shut. Four warm spurts of thick liquid hit her, a thumping sound greeted her hearing and a limp object fell on her left foot—from it a puddle of warmth and wet slid into her heel and around her foot. She was still standing, still breathing, still waiting for another bang in her direction that didn't come. Her face scrunched, her toes curled trying to escape the substance seeping around them…When she peeled her eyes open, she discovered what she hoped she wouldn't: She was splattered all over with the Point's blood. A drop of crimson rolled down her cheek and hung on her chin as if she'd been crying. David looked on her as if nothing happened.

"Want to leave too?"

The response was in her throat. The Architect's mouth opened to answer with a 'yes' but closed when her eyes drifted from his face to the gun in his hand. But he wouldn't shoot her would he? After all the jobs they'd worked together—. He knew her, he knew Arthur well, he seemed a pretty good friend to them and never showed a sign of danger before. Ingams pocketed the gun as if he'd heard her thoughts, "I know you're dying to say yes…but I'm not going to shoot you." Ariadne turned her head. He kept talking, "Unlike Mr. Nyada, here," he kicked the body and remembering his head on her foot, the girl pulled it back, kicked the shoe off and tried wiping her feet on the sand as she backed away from the scene. "I think you're reasonable enough to compromise before it gets that far."

"What is there to compromise about? Technically, you guys don't have a leg to stand on."

David sniggered and made a point of looking at the bloody, sand covered foot she was holding off the ground. Looked like she was the one without a leg to stand on here. After she made the connection, she placed it on the ground confidently and eyed him fiercely. She meant business and she knew exactly how to portray that per Arthur and Cobb's instruction. (And her own fiery demeanor.) Ariadne stretched two inches taller. "I told you I studied the contract. Thrice over. Front to back, every word. I highlighted the fine print. I know what I agreed to and I agreed to a month timeframe _during which _I would assist in whatever job necessary. I did _not _agree to remain with you for the duration or until the completion of your 'war' with GG Oils." She knew he was silent because she was right. She glimpsed at the plane, then assertively announced to him, "I'm done and I'm going home."

There was a click when she swiveled to—walk or however she was going to leave, she hadn't thought that far—and disappointed, she tilted her head and froze. Her friend broke the news to her, "You know too much. That's why I couldn't let Kenji walk away…That's why I can't let you either."

"Just because I know doesn't mean I'll tell," Over her shoulder, she assured him and whoever was listening inside the plane.

"Unless Arthur asks." His name made her eyebrows furrow and her body face Ingams again. "You'd tell him anything, wouldn't you? Even after he walked out on you and broke your heart." He took advantage of her shock to keep taunting her. "He'd coerce you into telling him everything so he could protect you from us." A snort bubbled out of him, "Because he did so well protecting you from us the first time, right?"

Puzzled, Ariadne's head shook back and forth, "First? Wha-?"

"It may be the first time I've donned the green but I've been a Hood since the beginning. It wasn't coincidence we met on the Hoag job, Dear. And I didn't join your circle of friends because we clicked. And the Inception team _definitely_ wasn't contacted for this job because we'd heard about them through the grapevine. I've been watching you, the way your mind works, sending everything I could get of you back to the woods, back to Wolffe. He sees your potential. We've wanted you a part of our family for a while now. Arthur was oblivious to it all. Arthur practically placed you in our hands."

She took a step back uncomfortably. Bewildered. "Is that supposed to make me want to stay? The fact that you've been stalking us?"

"If not…Arthur's life might."

Ariadne ground her jaw, "Don't put him in the middle of this, David."

"He's already in the middle of this. He knows too much himself. Your whole team does. They all have physical contracts, they have proof of our existence, the way we bring people in—"

She chided, "They don't know you pretend to befriend people and then manipulate and kidnap them."

But he ignored her, "We should have killed them a month ago. We have eyes on all of them…waiting for the word…the only reason we haven't taken drastic measure is because Wolffe is so fond of you. He's not ready to let you out of his sight so we keep them alive as bargaining chips."

"And how long do I have to stay for you to leave them be?"

"As long as you want them alive. Every day you're with us is another day they live their lives untouched."

Ariadne let her head fall back to stare at the sky. Her eyes darted around frantically. The decision laid in front of her. His voice carried through the haze, "I'll give you a minute." As he stepped into the aircraft her fingers clasped behind her neck and then she was hunched over, mind racing, palms sweating. There was no thinking about this really…Ariadne was not about to let herself take four lives for hers. Especially not the lives of three of her best friends. And _especially _not Arthur's. She was merely taking the time to steel herself for this. She pushed herself into the plane by thinking of one of their faces, each step.

Cobb.  
Arthur.  
Yusuf.  
Eames.  
James.  
Philippa.

"Excellent. You've decided to stay for me," winked the man pulling off his black hood. They herded her to the seat next to Rusty. Ariadne jeered, "I decided to stay for_ my friends._" She remained unaffected when his eyebrows raised at her, "But if you think you're going to throw me in the POW cells then think again. I don't deserve to lose my freedom like that, you _monster_."

Wolffe let loose a hiccup of a laugh, "You're a feisty girl." He grumbled after that but Ariadne thought she'd heard: "You don't know how much that pleases me."

xxxxxx

As the hatch opened, one of the Browns hopped onto the steep stairway and satisfactorily exclaimed, "Home sweet home!"

Ari took a last look at the woods. At the sun. Sucked one more breath of fresh air before she was pushed forward. The stairwell portrayed a mouth opening up to gobble her down. As her hands slid along the thin rail and her feet felt for the next step, her eyes stared at the light for as long as she could. The further down she went, the more shadow gradually ghosted across her face where the sunlight had laid. She wanted to scream when the hatch sealed atop them. Scream for anyone to hear. So much pressure had fallen upon her shoulders since the ultimatum in the desert that Ariadne felt buried alive far before she'd sunk leagues below the earth. The heat of the sun had just begun to alight in her a wave of comfort, of nostalgia, of feeling connected to the rest of humanity again. Was this how Persephone felt as she was dragged from the flower beds and the morning star to live with Hades in the underworld? It was unfair. Ariadne hadn't had nearly the appropriate length of time in Spring before she was pulled back under the roots to the cold; where everything felt isolated and dead. Her parents had clearly given her the wrong namesake. As of now, she wasn't Ariadne the Athenian Princess who led victims out of the labyrinth…she was the Minotaur entrapped in it. Maybe she'd never been a victim of Claustrophobia but she was starting now.

Home. _Home. _The voices around her joked and laughed and called this home. Was this home? Was this _her _home now? One normally pictures soft cushions, maybe the gentle glow of a fireplace, somewhere cozy and inviting. A place of comfort. Somewhere that encases your clutter where you can curl up on a rainy day, however you are and feel content. Feel safe. Ariadne would've never imagined a chilled, hard edged, cave of solitude as a home. But if she was to live here for the next few weeks, months, possibly years she might have to learn to be happy. After all home wasn't somewhere you dreaded every second in. Home wasn't somewhere you wished to escape. You should love it. 'Home is where the heart is' her dad would always say. Her parents had etched that into her brain at the ripe age of five when she hadn't wanted to move to America. Not that she can really recall the first five years of her life or that they were spent in France…but they often reminded her how she'd cried over leaving Papa and Maman, even though she was promised the chance to get to know her Mimi and Grandpa. And that she didn't want to leave her playmates from 'Maternelle Tout-Petits' or her favorite bakery across the street or the stray dog she'd named Scruffy Chiot or the grocer at the farmer's market that gave her a daisy and a pomegranate every Tuesday afternoon. Her parents had assured toddler Ariadne that she would love Virginia just as much as she loved Marseilles if she'd give it a chance. "Home is where the heart is," her dad soothed the night before their plane ride, "So open up your heart to America, mon cheri." And as far back as the Architect could remember now, she'd always lived in America. The quaint three bedroom blue house in Richmond, Virginia had always been her home. Until her heart started to desire the lights and magic of her origin, that is. Once Ariadne had made the move back to France and set up her meager flat... Once she'd done homework on the couch and slumped into her bed after finals and had girls' night with Netflix and a cup of tea in her closet of a space, Paris had been home. Then as soon as Arthur had asked her to live somewhere with him and Ariadne packed up her boxes and moved into a spacious townhome just inside the city…it was like she'd always been there. It'd always been waiting for her. It wouldn't be easy to do the same here in this pit…because Ariadne's heart was far, far away. Thus home was too.

The Hoods reunited her with her duffel and passed out new card keys to her and the Chemist. Now that they were residents they wouldn't have to share the bunk area the dream division had used. They would have their own box-like rooms like everyone else. The Architect immediately imagined her box as a coffin when the door slid open and revealed it: Dirt looking concrete walls with ingrained doors at the entrance of the box and the side unit of her personal facilities. A modestly sized spring bed. Minimal furniture—that being a four by four sized distressed wood desk and a stool by the bed which she supposed would serve as a bedside table since an oil lamp was placed on it. The same lighting from the tunneled hallways and that lighted their feet in the stairwell from the hatch lined the perimeter of the ceiling. There was no switch to turn it on or off. All lights and electricity were provided through solar power panels and the light was dim enough that to sleep with them on didn't make a huge difference. The oil lamp could be used to read or write or whatever needed but could be put out so the want for more darkness could be satiated. That wouldn't be a problem for the Architect. As bare as the room seemed, her bathroom was even worse. Water was divided through the residents and each person had a schedule of available bathing times. On their days (usually every two) water would be sent to each of their tanks (and that wasn't but five or six bucket fulls) they would stand in the corner and pull a levy…which would release their rationed water through a shower head in the side of their bathroom. The toilet (which was only the bowl part and a pipe leading into the wall with a flusher) had little water inside. Their waste was sent through the pipes to their irrigation or pipe room where someone would use a control panel to compact it and send it up to the surface to use as compost in the gardens. Very green, if not drastic from Ariadne's viewpoint. Perchance, Ariadne might grow accustomed to living as one with the land. A new consciousness and peace might be impressed upon her. An appreciation for this underground eco-friendly empire. With effort, she could get used to it…and actually enjoy it. Since they had gotten back from the job so late in the night all there was left to do for Ariadne was sleep and put her thoughts on the subject matter to rest for a few hours.

xxxxxx

The next morning she slipped a (relatively) fresh pair of jeans and a sweater on under her cloak and padded to the dining hall for breakfast. She hadn't slept in since her first descent and to wake up at her leisure at ten thirty had put her in more of an optimistic mood. It didn't last long. She wasn't afforded the opportunity of finishing her oatmeal before there was beeping from the hatch and Wolffe with four Browns in tow hauled someone through the dining hall and back into the area of the Consequence Dig and POW cells. Curious, she examined the sack over the person's head and eavesdropped on the profanities and threats spilling from her companion's mouths. Ari first glanced at Rusty across from her and then to Grant next to her. (Grant was the Brown hood most often put on duty to supervise the dream division. He was the nicest of them she'd met and even after his responsibility to watch over them was relieved he tended to hang around them- Especially after the execution of the Point and the Forger. Ingams had long abandoned her and Rusty's company for that of Wolffe's and fellow Browns like he had been previously used to. Not that Ariadne cared. The betrayal was such a strong knife in her back, she hated his guts and avoided him anyways.) Grant identified the question in her stare and enlightened, "Our inside man from Gatu…we think he might've tipped them off to our plans and that's why the nightmares lost their effect a day later. He told them what we'd done." An unrestrained guttural cry echoed through the hall begging for mercy and Ariadne winced. Grant then stood and motioned for her to hurry, "You might want to finish that," he alluded to her oatmeal, "I think we're about to be called in for a lesson of Loyalty."

Sure enough, another Black Hood's voice ricocheted off the walls, "All Hoods present report to the cells. You know the drill, newer residents in front. Mac and David join Bruce and I." It was gruesome to watch the man be beaten and told it was for his own good. For all of their own good. He beseeched them and apologized-on his knees, blood running down his face as freely as the tears. Mel (the other Black) said what seemed like lines in a script and looked on unfazed while Mac and David whipped him with branches. "You should've been loyal to us in our agreement to keep the actions secret…and we would've been loyal to you in our agreement to keep from harming you." Wolffe yelled, "Brothers, when he opened his mouth to reveal us to the enemy, he made his choice. He picked his side. We will forgive him for his mistake but we must not waiver the punishment. For what do we do Hoods? For the protection of the earth, for the good of the population? We-?"

"Hold everyone accountable." They chimed in a chorus. Ariadne was endeavoring to dismiss the scene. Her vision glued to the ground by her feet, her ears straining to tune them out. In the silence following their refrain, her inquisitiveness made her look up. Startled to meet Wolffe and Liv's expectant yet also disapproving glares, she shot her eyes back down. They formed a single file line and were each given sewing needles. The two Blacks held the prisoner up, while Mac and David held candles for the Hoods to heat the needles on when they got close to the front of the line. Ariadne was behind Rusty and a group of other newly initiated Browns. To her disgust, she heard the Hood behind her's keening growl, "I love punishing our traitors. It's such a rush!" The Architect gaped back at him filled with both repulsion and disbelief only to see green eyes and a butt chin leering out at her. When it came time to hold her burning hot needle against the prisoner's skin, she took one look at him and scooted to get around them all. But more Browns blocked her way. "Architect" steeled the Black. "You never answered. What do we do?" Doubtfully, she laid the needle on the back of the Prisoner's neck as softly and quickly as she could and kept silent. Wolffe then pressed down on her hand and the needle delved into the man's back. The man who before seemed too out of it to do anything but moan at the contact sprouted to life and writhed, screeching for her to stop. Please please stop. Her eyes widened and she tried to pull her hand back but the Black held it there uncompromisingly. He moved her hand for her to carve 'Red' into the man's body. The prisoner looked at her with red, watering, veiny eyes and she opened her mouth to express her remorse but Wolffe's grumbled came out instead and demanded of her, "What do we do, Red?"

"Hold everyone accountable." She finally repeated and they let both her and the prisoner out of their misery.

Today was the day Ariadne learned in terror that the Hoods kept a record (or score) of how many enemies they disciplined and debilitated. There were Polaroid cameras hanging on hooks at the front of the hallway. Each time a P.O.W was punished or "shut down" (injected with a specialized, custom mixed drug that slowly shut down vital organs and resulted in death) the moment was captured on Polaroid for each brother or sister who had a hand in "bettering humanity." These were proudly displayed by the rest of the Hoods. Some filled notebooks with them, some tacked them on the walls in their boxes, some had a stack of rubberbanded pictures sitting on their desk. Don, the other Black Hood was in charge of snapping the shots. Bruce held up the line to take the Polaroid meant for Ariadne and blow on it, eyeing her darkly, suggestively. His finger curled through the belt loop of her jeans and pulled her close enough to slide the picture in her back pocket. "Your first," he whispered and then pushed her out of the way.  
xxxxxx

Ariadne ran from the cells and found the main area with the tv monitors and paneled table seemingly abandoned. Onto a stool, she collapsed, and let her head rest on the table. What had Ariadne just done? She just allowed herself to be pressured into torturing someone. Are these the people she was destined to spend every waking moment with? Are these the principals and morals and expectations she was going to have to learn to believe in? How had she not noticed it before? Was it because she hadn't had the time? This underground organization was surrounded—no, created-worse, kept running and working by tragedy and death. Consequences for choices people didn't even realize they had to make. These people lived here and tormented people they considered bad for the environment, for them, for whatever reason they could find. They stalked people and recorded their lives waiting for the moment they chose a course they didn't agree with and then sent bullets through their heads. This "Brotherhood" survived on the anticipation of their next strike—which usually involved the fear, grief and death of more innocent people than guilty. Was there any good to be uncovered here? If so, Ariadne needed to find it quick just in case she would spend eternity as a hooded woman.

She scrutinized the arena around her. How could she have ever been marveled by this place? Initially, sure, it was incredible—the room they'd carved out for themselves, the technology they'd weaved in, this underground society completely invisible to the world. The ceilings were high and the roominess in excess but it was for all intents and purposes: empty space. As open as it was on the inside it was still closed off to everything she'd ever known. To call this place home—to hope to ever call this place home—was a lie. The Architect would've given anything to be anywhere else. To return to the life she had before this place, before she stupidly signed that contract. If she could just get out and back to Paris her problems would be—well no, her problems still wouldn't be solved. Things with Arthur wouldn't mend themselves. But she'd have the opportunity to try.

But then—why was she resigning herself to a forever in this hell hole? Her life had been turned upside down and altered once for her to end up here. Who said it couldn't change again? And who said being in Paris would make her home? Really…it hadn't felt like home since the night they fought. Since the morning she woke up and Arthur was erased from her life. If _Home is where the heart is, _well,technically, her heart hadn't belonged to her for a while now. She'd given it to the Point Man and though it may be broken it was still his. Wherever he was right now, her heart was in his back pocket. So maybe Ariadne wasn't home…but her heart was. And they could dig farther underground, put her in a coffin, bolt all the doors and tie her up but they wouldn't have complete dominion of her. They would never capture and hold _all _of the Architect. Because some part of her was with Arthur up above and free. And Arthur remained that way as long as her body stayed here. That belief alone would have to be enough to get her through the day or forever that was to come.

Yet, a week was all that would pass before this mind frame drastically changed. After all, Little Red was not at home—but the Wolffe was.  
xxxxxx

**Beeping.** This is what woke Ariadne from her slumber. Her eyes pried open in time with the sound of the door sliding to see a blurry figure in Black.

"Hello?" The door sealed shut automatically behind the Black hood and Ariadne fought furiously to wake herself up and take defense. "Who's there?"

"Just me."

The hood fell away from his face and revealed Wolffe smiling toothily at her.

Xxxxxx

Ok. I know the dream part was probably a bit rushed but the actual job wasn't a focus of the story. We have some dark stuff ahead for our Architect…about two chapters I believe...before we visit Arthur again. We actually get some Ari/Art interaction-ish in the next chapter, wee! If there's anything you're expecting or would like to happen feel free to put in two cents. Reviews basically make the world go round and really help make the story better.


	7. Do NOT Look

Hi! I normally update way more consistently than this but these last few weeks of work are killing me! I'll have time to focus more on this soon though. Anyway thanks to you guys who inspired me to update: _KT: _Aw,, thank you so much! _Musicismyheroine: _Oops, sorry to scare you. And I know their methods of revenge/avenge are pretty severe. And we've only scraped the surface of it. _Lauraa-x: _Interesting speculation on John Moores/Ken Doll but he's actually just normal guy. Remember Arthur contacted him and offered him the job. He wasn't sent out and he didn't necessarily seek it. The Hoods have eyes on John as well but he has no connection to Ari so he's not a big deal for them, he's more in the way.

Trigger warning for rape. Its not graphic but the allusion is there. Just warning to be safe.

**Chapter 7: Do NOT watch.**

**Beeping.** This is what woke Ariadne from her slumber. Her eyes pried open in time with the sound of the door sliding open to see a blurry figure in Black. "Hello?" The door sealed shut automatically behind the Black hood and Ariadne fought furiously to wake herself up and take defense. "Who's there?"

"Just me." The hood fell away from his face and revealed Wolffe smiling toothily at her. Uncomfortably, Ariadne sat up and pulled the sheets closer to her face; the way he was eyeing her made her feel naked. "Do you need something?"

He pursed his lips, "Nah," he moseyed to her bedside and sat on the edge. Out of instinct, Ariadne brought her knees to her chest. "Just wanted to check on you…you haven't been very social with me lately."

This comment made her angry. How was she supposed to act? Why would she be all gung ho and friendly with the people who'd blackmailed her out of her life? Did they think she would be giddy to live down here for who knows how long? There was most definitely a reason she'd isolated herself in the week she'd unwillingly but willingly stayed here. Unable to control her temper she sneered, "Gee. I wonder why?"

A chuckle was all the response he would give her before they fell silent. She waited for the moment he would feel bemused enough to leave her alone but it didn't come. His low rumble did, "I'm sorry. But you can't blame me for not wanting you to leave me, can you?" Afraid that anything she said might be taken the wrong way, Ariadne refrained from speech. "I know living underground seems dull _and_ you miss your Point Man but I promise you'll never be lonely," Wolffe trailed his finger from her foot to her knee, "I won't let you be."

The hairs on Ariadne's arms and neck stood at attention. She didn't like the way he'd said that…with a raspy voice and labored breath. Quickly and without hesitation, she was out of the bed, on her feet and across the room. "I'm not lonely. I'm tired." She wrapped her arms around her middle, feeling like she had to cover what was already covered while under his speculation. "This is the first opportunity in a month I've gotten to sleep as much as I want—so if you could go…"

Gradually, Wolffe made his way around her bed. Matching every backwards step of hers with a step forward himself, he cornered her like jungle cat and its prey. "Come on, Baby—"

"Don't call me that." Ariadne spat, attempting to throw away the terror building inside of her with her words. She felt his hands press her hips into the wall before his lips were on hers greedily. The girl shoved him off, "What are you doing?!" His hand cupped something it shouldn't have and he hummed with a simper, "You."

_WHACK. _Her hand met his face hard and unforgiving, already leaving a print. When his hands held the side of his face she took advantage to duck around him and bolt for the door. Reaching the keypad, she scrabbled to press her personal code so the door would release her. * * *- A thick card was held in front of the scanner by a bulky muscled hand from over her shoulder. Immediately, the light flashed red and the sound of a lock clicked. Eyes wide, she reached for the key pad and punched in her code * * * *. Wolffe let her because no matter how many times she entered it, he could satisfactorily watch the light blink red back at her.

Frozen. A sinking feeling, deep in the pit of her stomach, screamed when she realized there was no getting out of what was about to happen. Ariadne bit her lip and started to tear up when his arms, again, snaked around her waist and his lips sucked on her neck like he was a mosquito drawing blood, "Come on, Red. You can't deny that this has been building between us..." Her body twisted to rid itself of him, adrenaline and panic shooting through her bloodstream to her fingertips. "Stop." It wasn't working-her voice wasn't resonating. She tried to firmly demand and all her vocal chords could summon up was a croak. Ariadne tried again, the concern reaching new heights as he moved in front of her and pushed her towards the bed with his hand under her shirt, "Stop!" Backwards, she tripped, slapping at his chest and trying to pull his arm from under her garment. All she succeeded in doing was falling back onto the bed. As soon as she felt the squishy material beneath her she scrambled to the wall at the head of the bed in attempts to get away from his grabby limbs and devouring eyes. "Get away from me!"

Laughing quietly, he crept close enough to grab her ankles and drag her down to him. Wolffe's eyes shone as they raked over her form. They sized her up like she was a dinner plate. And he appeared to be starving. Ariadne fell into an anxiety attack; her legs became restless. She kicked and flailed and yelled for him to get off, her hands scratching and slapping at his face and his chest. "Leave me alone! Help! David! Someone! HELP!" screeched the Architect, the tears building. Her chest ached from the panic that battered her insides. Wolffe was too quick and large in stature for her. It was effortless on his part to pin her legs with his knees and hold her wrists above her head with one hand. The other he used to muzzle her mouth. Her body coiled and pulled away from him when his mouth captured her ear, "Be still, pretty girl." The reality of the situation became all too overwhelming; Ariadne started bawling. "Be quiet for me or I'll only love you more," His voice threatened.

Ariadne Bourgeois had been embarrassed. She'd been hopeless, helpless, heartbroken. She'd been scared to death, nervous and anxious as hell. She'd been depressed. She'd been lost. She'd been alone and broken. But never in her life had she been powerless. For as long as she could remember, she had a strong belief that you controlled what happened to you. One person had the power to change anything. That with enough determination, courage, skill and ambition, you could fight whatever came your way. In that moment, her belief came crumbling down. Because no matter how determined she was to refuse him, no matter how much courage it took to look him in the eyes and fight back, no matter how nimble she could be—there was no way on earth she was physically strong enough to push him off of her. It was going to happen. She would not escape. He would not give up. She was everything she'd ever been—strongwilled, hardheaded, fiery, independent, brilliant—and still only powerless. In effort to muster enough bravery to get through it, Ariadne's thoughts drifted back to a conversation before her first solo job.

_She'd gone to bed unusually early at nine and had only tossed and turned and fidgeted since. The hump next to her rolled over and sighed, "Ariadne…"_

"_Sorry." She stilled and stared at the ceiling._

"_Oh I'll be fine," Arthur snickered, "I'm used to getting up early. It's you I'm worried about. Your plane leaves at 5:15 which means I need to get you there no later than 4 which means we have to get up—"_

_The Architect whined,"Eaaarly…I know," and then rolled to face him, "I can't help it…I'm just so—"_

"_Excited?" The Point smirked down at her and sat up against the headboard._

_She nodded, "Mostly," then sat up on her elbow, "and then kind of—scared shitless."_

_Arthur mocked her through a raise of his eyebrows, "You. Scared? I don't buy that for a second, Bourgeois. Maybe nervous but never scared."_

"_I was fine until tonight. And now that it's here…I'm overthinking it and freaking myself out…I've never been on a job without you or Eames before."_

"_You don't need us."_

"_Well what if this Ingams guy is a shit Extractor? And he fails…and the job completely goes South and we end up with Asian bounty hunters on our tails?" She heard Arthur hiccup a laugh but continued, "Or what if I get stuck with a lazy ass Point who doesn't research anything properly and causes me to mess up the designs like that Nash guy? Then I'll be dodging ninjas all by myself in Osaka. Aren't they like insane with the torture in Asia? Like pulling off people's fingers and crap?"_

_Arthur smiled and shook his head at her over dramatization of what could happen, "You are going to be fine. You'll have a great team," at this point Ariadne scooted over to wrap her arms around his torso and lay her head on his chest, "things will go smoothly and you'll come home chirping in my ear about finding another one." _

"_I hope you're right."_

"_When am I wrong?"_

_Her hand slapped his chest playfully, "You're so conceited." They laughed together and his hand drew lines up and down her shoulder to soothe her into much needed sleep. And it had almost worked. Ariadne was drifting off when he spoke with too much focus and urgency for her not to listen. "But if something does happen…if something __**ever **__happens there are three things I need you to remember."_

_She nodded and told him to name them, "One: Never return to your point of origin. Are you awake enough to comprehend this?" he paused to make sure she was really listening so she could grasp the concepts fully. Her chin came to rest on his chest sluggishly and she met his eyes with expectant ones. He continued, "The hotel you stay at, the warehouse or wherever you worked—if the job goes bad never go back to those places. No matter what you've left there. You hop on a plane or train or whatever leaves fastest and get the hell out of there." Ariadne ok'ed and nodded her head._

"_Two: If they catch you…never let them see the fear. Whatever they do to you close your eyes and count backwards from a hundred until It's over. Do __**not **__watch, seeing it will only increase the reality of it and scare you more. Alright?" She hummed yes._

"_Three is the most important…know that no matter where they hide you, I will always find you." Arthur gently tucked her hair behind her ear, "No matter what they do, I will bring you home and fix you. No matter what they say, remember that I love you with my whole heart and soul. And I promise you that I'll introduce every person that harms you to their grave." _

Quicker than flies, Wolffe's hands and lips were everywhere and all over. As it began to happen, Ariadne's eyes shut tight and through her tears counted in her head, "One hundred, ninety-nine, ninety-eight, ninety-seven…" She struggled to focus on the numbers and not the noises Wolffe was emitting. Not the immense pain. Arthur had never been so rough; he had always been cognizant and worried over if he was hurting her. Arthur treated her like a goddess, everything revolved around her. Wolffe was using her body as an object. Then again they were incomparable. Arthur made love, he never raped her.

It wasn't over soon enough. He left Ariadne shivering in bed, eyes still shut, still counting down from nine. "I can see it's going to be fun to break your spirit." When her eyes finally opened and after her totem had cruelly fallen true, she laid there and stared at the ceiling for an hour, crying and crying. She felt too exposed now in her ripped t-shirt and nothing on the bottom. Shakily but numb from shock, Ariadne tiptoed to the bathroom and pulled out a long sleeve shirt (the boxiest), sweatpants, socks even. She still felt undressed even when covered head to toe in baggy garments. The stench of her soiled sheets made her nauseous and that was before she noticed the blood; she threw up several times before she could bring herself to take them off and lay towels out. The Architect felt more than violated, more than repulsed, more than abused yet at the same time nothing. Felt empty. Like she didn't belong to herself anymore. Every sound caused her to jump—she feared more than anything that he would come back. The hours passed were uncountable while she rocked back and forth, curled up under the covers—never covered enough-, her eyes raw and dry for she'd emptied all the tears her body had to offer. She strained to soothe herself on Arthur's words. Arthur would kill this monster for what he'd just done.

And what he would do.  
xxxxxx

The next day left Ariadne in the shivering cold. She awoke, sick to her stomach again and scarcely made it to her adjoined facilities before relieving it. She'd checked her totem again three or four times and still couldn't shake the feeling that she wasn't awake. She stared around the room, even touched the minimal furniture and none of it computed. She was looking but not seeing, touching but not feeling, breathing but not alive. Every movement was robotic. Ariadne: head in the clouds, full of ideas and colors and musings…now her head was empty save for forced instructions. _Move Ariadne. Ariadne, change clothes. Pull the hood over your eyes. Eat, Ariadne. I'm not hungry…I feel sick… Right hand open the door. Walk Ariadne: right foot, left foot, right foot, left foot, turn the corner. You're fine. You're fine. Get a tray. Any tray…is he here!? Someone's watching. Where is he? Is he watching? Breathe in, Ariadne. Breathe out, Ariadne. In. Now, out. Look down. Don't look. Don't ever look, remember? Sit. Pick up the fork. Pick it up. Right hand, pick it up. I'm not hungry…I feel sick. Ariadne, eat. You're fine._

A figure brushed her shoulder as it slid in next to her and a tray like her own dropped on the table across, the figure that owned it plopped down as well. _Don't look. Don't ever look. Tense. _"Hey you, lovely day for doing the same thing we always do, huh?"

_Rusty. Muscles relax. Tense. Relax them, Ariadne. Tense. You know her. You're fine. You're fine. Relax. Relax Ariadne. Ariadne, relax your muscles. More, breathe. Tense. Who's across? Don't look. Don't ever— _"Earth to Ariadne?" Her eyes but not head raised and peered under the edge of her hood. Just Grant. _Relax. _"Red?" _RESPOND. _

"H-hey." The Architect croaked and picked up her fork hesitantly. She did her best to feign normalcy. Because after all she was fine. Right?

Rusty twisted her head in front of Ariadne's and chortled, "Is brooding alone in your box and cutting yourself off from everyone but us finally making you mental?"

Ariadne swallowed hard and wrestled with her uncooperative tongue and useless vocal chords to produce an answer. They would never understand what a task it was for her to reply, "N-no. I like…I like being alone." Her hair fell out of her hood and hung in front of her. _Bite the slice of apple, Ariadne. Chew it. Swallow. I'm going to throw up…swallow. Breathe. Relax. Finish the slice. _"Well, you're just going to have to deal with us because we enjoy your company." Ariadne could hear the smile in Rusty's voice…a comment she would normally feel the urge to laugh at. She didn't feel the urge to do anything at all, though. Ariadne didn't feel. Grant hadn't said anything. Her gaze ventured up but couldn't help zoning in on his mouth. Squinting, she stared as he devoured his oatmeal and eggs. He shoved a spoonful into his mouth: Slurp. Smack. Slurp. Smack. Gulp…The sounds made Ariadne's stomach churn. His mouth was everywhere. _His mouth was everywhere. _

Her eyes shut. She sprung from her seat, knocked the tray of fruit over in her haste and tripped on her way rushing out of there. _Somewhere quiet. Find somewhere quiet. Breathe Ariadne. Relax Ariadne. WALK FASTER ARIADNE. _The small form of the Architect stumbled into the old workroom, pinching the bridge of her nose. Desks now empty, file cabinets open and stripped. She retched into a trash can for the third time that morning and was dry heaving when the door creaked open. "Feeling sick, baby?" _His voice. _

Instantaneously, her chest tightened. As did her fists around the trash bin. Her body shot up and she backed away as he swayed and sauntered closer. Ariadne clutched the golden chess piece in her pocket as a result of a déjà vu—a domino effect caused by his body pressing hers into the wall. "Get—"Her fight or flight responses were kicking in and she'd be damned if he did this to her again. Her tiny fists struck his chest, "Get off!" Too immediate were his reflexes for her to foresee—he seized her wrists and pulled her forward only to jam her into the wall behind her. It wasn't brutal enough for a concussion but she did groan throatily and attempt to cradle her head as her legs gave way to the pain and she slid halfway the floor. Wolffe, slung her around by her forearms and pinned her to her previous drawing desk. Still jarred from her collision with the wall, her head lolled, but don't think she didn't blink furiously to see him properly and wriggle to get away in her state of discomfort. "Let me go."

"You know the symbolism isn't lost on me…" He tittered with too much delight not to seem maniacal.

She tried to sneer and knee him in the crotch, "What symboli—" They were too close for her knee him with enough force for it to hurt. The decision was promptly regretted when his hand instead caught the back of her knee and ran up her thigh. Taking hold of the opportunity of a free wrist, her hand flew through the air to slap him. He only leered back—a facial expression that intimidated her more than a scowl would. "Little Red and the big bad Wolffe?" Once more she balled her fist and cast it through the air just for it to be grabbed…and just for him to lean in. Ariadne swore she saw an animal instead of a human being in that moment. She saw it licking its chops, picking her flesh off with its eyes…felt its claws dig into her skin. It growled, with sharp teeth bared, saliva dripping from its chin, "My, my, my…What full lips you have." Its orifice descended on her…eating her alive she presumed. Sloppy and soggy. Her eyes fastened closed: _100, 99, 98, 97, 96, 95, 94, 93, 92-_ It tore through her bottom lip and when it let her go, she tasted metal. "The better to kiss me with."

Somewhere inside her, she found the grit to suck the collecting blood from her lip and spit in his face, "Don't touch me ever again."

"Give it time, Red. You'll realize you love this." With one last open mouthed smooch that she pummeled his chest during, he left her to herself.

Xxxxxx

As relieving and tempting as segregating herself from the rest of the following was…no longer could Ariadne be unaccompanied because that was when she was most vulnerable. Alone in her box, alone in the workroom, alone in the tunnels, all places Wolffe could get her _alone. _The wooden desk was a coolant to her throbbing head; she rolled over to press her forehead into it. Evidently, Wolffe had got it into his head that he could do whatever he wanted to her just because he wanted to. She would make it impossibly difficult for him to do so…

"Rusty…" The Chemist had volunteered to be part of normal rotation in the time between dream jobs. Today, she was charged with Con Dig duty. She supervised the cells of P.O.W.s and let personnel in to "teach" them their daily lesson. Lessons varied from what the Hoods categorized as Decision Making, Consequence and Humility: sessions designed to bring the error of one's ways to the forefront of their mind and give them a chance to change their stance on an issue, to give them punishment for an answer that did not coincide with Hood beliefs and then to break their pride. This grungy tunnel full of fowl smells and incoherent moaning was where Ariadne found dutiful Mila.

"Are you my relief?"

Ariadne received an, "Of course not…" when she declined with a shake of her head. Upon their second descent, Ariadne refused to be put on rotation. She wanted to remain in the Dream Division exclusively and have nothing to do with everyday Hood responsibilities…that was made clear. "Well I doubt you were curious about the goings on in the Dig…" Rusty rolled her eyes, ignoring that the hall was too dimly lit for the Architect to see, "so what do you need?"

"Could I bunk with you tonight?"

"Why? You have your own box."

Not exactly the welcoming response Ariadne prayed for. The reason—well actually she couldn't find a reason other than the truth that she wasn't ready to reveal to anyone…she stuttered, "Yeah—but—look I'll sleep on your floor. Please? It's-terrifying trying to sleep when-"

Rusty removed her Hood and looked Ariadne in the eyes. Unimpressed. Judgmental. "When….? What, are you having nightmares? Like a little kid?"

"You could say that. And there's no one there to wake me up from it."

Rusty's head shot to the side when she heard a groan and some coughs from a prisoner down the hall. "AGH, let me out! Bastards…to hell with you all." She replied to Ariadne with her eyes preoccupied and the back of her head facing the Architect, "Dreamshare _does _tend to make nightmares more vivid." And then pressed her earpiece, "We've got a P.O.W instigating something." Rusty shrugged and addressed her again, "Yeah. I guess this once would be alright. I'll see if I can't have Wolffe find some sedatives to keep you down at night…"

Just then some Browns' footsteps came down the hallway and passed them on their way to the prisoner. She felt Wolffe before she saw him. His fingers trailed across her back as he passed her, and the black hole his Hood created where his face should be looked back as he followed. Ariadne shivered and quickly rejected, "No. Don't say anything to him about it. Especially about the sedatives." _He doesn't need any ideas. _

Xxxxxx

They weren't bothered that night. Ariadne had taken some towels and laid them on the ground, used some thick clothes as her pillow and her cloak as her blanket. The ground may have been hard and uncomfortable, the cold may have seeped through to her bones and she may have woken up with a sore back and crick in her neck but it was the most blissful sleep she'd had since she came back. Untouched, unburdened, dreamless sleep. The clothes used as a pillow were the ones worn that morning. It almost felt as if the previous night hadn't happened. Had it? Apart from another episode of emptying her stomach that morning, her appetite returned in full swing and made Ariadne crave what she'd been too disinterested in digesting the morning before. Eggs, fruit, oatmeal, venison sausages. After a hearty breakfast, she returned her things to their place in her box. Her bunk was made…nevermind that. She hauled her duffel on top of the mattress and started folding her clothes and putting them back in. She needed to rinse out a few things—those she threw in a pile on the floor. Then suddenly—

A movement in the corner of her room.

A shadow lifted off the wall and spoke at her, "And where were you all night?"

Ariadne steeled herself. _Arthur said do not show fear, _"Not here?"

"Let's get something straight, Red." The shadow emerged and knocked her duffel to the ground, spilled its contents and then dirtied them with the bottoms of his shoes, "You belong to me."

Her feet scrambled across the bed and into the bathroom. Unfortunately those did not have locks but she closed herself inside anyway and pushed against the door. "I most definitely do _not _belong to _you _just because you—you—forced yourself on me!"

The door busted off the hinges and the Architect was pulled by her hair against the wall again. "You screw someone else last night? Huh?" Wolffe was working to undress her as determinedly as she was struggling to hold her shirt down as he tugged it up, and hold her jeans up as he forcefully wrenched them down. "No!"

"You'll hold it back from me…" His strength yanked them so vehemently her feet were pulled from under her and she fell to the ground, still pressing her sweater to her upper body to keep covered. "But you'll give yourself to whatever Hood asks won't you?"

"I was in Mila's box!" beseeched Ariadne, blurting out whatever defense could slow his anger and prevent the attack. As the Hood in black balled up her jeans and tossed them into the bathroom, Ariadne clambered to her knees and crawled to the door.

"Who was it?!" She watched the floor float away from her as his arms crushed her waist and lifted her from it. Her short legs jerked and her hands slapped his arms, "Was it Mac? Tell me, Red!"

Ariadne screeched, frustrated, "NO! Let go!"

Wolffe ignored and pulled her sweater over her head, "Was it David?" Her sweater flew across the box, her arms outreached for it like it could come to life and save her. "Grant?" With her hands on his throat and the side of his head, she pushed at it him while his nose buried into her crook of her neck and she felt his lips at work, "Was it good?"

"All I did was sleep!" Her voice was breaking…it couldn't be happening again. It wasn't happening again. The sides of his head took a clobbering of knuckles but Wolffe's figure was too capable of overpowering her.

"I'll teach _you_ to sleep around…" snarled the beast. Her heightened sense of awareness made her ears pick up the rustling of his clothes. The zipping (or unzipping rather…). Ariadne implored, she begged, she contorted her body in any way she could to get away from him, "No! Stop! I didn't do anything!" But it only served to egg him on.

Ariadne once again left the floor, her back rammed into the wall of her box and she cried out in excruciating agony. Eyes closed: _100, 99, 98, 97, 96, 95, 94, 93…_

When he finished, she slumped to the ground, unable to stand, unable to move. _78, 77, 76—_Naturally, her body curled into the fetal position and her arms went to cover her head and her chest. "I'm having your keypad activity wired to my room. I'll know if you're sleeping in someone else's box from now on." His hood draped over his eyes and he faded into the shadows as deftly as he appeared from them. Ariadne pulled herself along the floor to her duffel and erratically combed through it for something to cover up in. Another pair of jeans was the first thing she pulled on and she struggled to get in to them (each shift of her legs sent shooting pain from the waist down.) Back on her knees she dove her hand in and drew out- red and white pinstripes. Wrapped up in Arthur's shirt, she strived to recall a time when a man could be amiable and tender.  
xxxxxx

….I know…good news is: One more chapter and then we get some Arthur and team. Our interaction this chapter was a flashback but still nice…right? Aha. Ariadne would appreciate it if you dropped a line or two…it might help her feel better. Lol. Who can guess what Arthur's reaction to this will be? Or what do YOU WANT his reaction to be? What about Eames and Cobb? Should Ariadne attempt to seek help from her few Hood friends?

P.S. I know its hard/boring sometimes to read something when your ship isn't the main focus for a while or there is little interaction but if you guys remember Follow The Red, I went several chapters where they were separated at first too. Hang in there with me. We've got a character arc to work on for a bit. But I'll find a way to shippy it up.


	8. He'll Huff and He'll Puff

Hola! Sorry for taking so long…thanks to _Lauraa-x, nowarning23, _and _Guest._ Thank you so much for taking the time to drop a line. you have no idea how much I appreciate it.

**Chapter 8: He'll Huff and He'll Puff and He'll Break You Down.**

As the week rounded out, the dreadful notion that these assaults would be a regular occurrence was taking residence in the Architect. Wolffe's eyes were always on her; she sensed them even when the room was empty. Wherever she found solace, he found _her_. His chuckle rang in her head…along with the disturbing comments about her big brown eyes and her swollen lips and how her innocence was something he wished he could consume. The thoughts fled from her when the alarm for the main hatch sounded and a group of four were yanked through the main arena—heads bagged. Two of them remarkably shorter than the others. Ariadne knew another lesson was coming…three of them were hauled to the Con Dig and the fourth was made to drop to his knees in front of the paneled tables (by Ingams) while Wolffe announced on the speakers, "All brothers and sisters report to the main arena. We've been blessed with a treat."

Ariadne was already there. It'd become habit for her to sit near the control room and aimlessly watch the monitors. The main arena was rarely empty. Hoods continuously passed through the open space, bustling in and out. It was the perfect sanctuary during the bulk of the day because there were too many witnesses and bypassers for Wolffe to be touchy-feely with her. He hadn't caught onto her scheme but instead believed she was starting to take interest in the people they watched and therefore integrating herself into the brotherhood. Anyways, she was there as myriads of Browns and Blacks poured in. Seeing Ariadne in the midst of the crowd, Mila pushed her way through to stand next to her and they both turned their attention to the new prisoner. David tugged the sack from over the body's head. A dark-haired man in a suit with more remorse in his eyes than fear made eye contact with her instantly. (It was just where she'd been standing. It held no meaning.) "Guess whose private jet conveniently crashed outside of Edmunston this morning?" The man's eyes closed.

"Yup. You guessed it," David began circling the man like a vulture, "Mr. Zayne Walker. Owner of the Gas N Go franchise, top purchaser of GG Oils. He's one of the monsters that keep their company afloat." Heckles and boos fired at Mr. Walker from all angles and then the gag was pulled from his mouth and David stepped aside to let Bruce take the floor. "Do you realize the effect your actions have caused on blameless American families? On helpless animals choked out of their homes because of that spill? You encourage destruction! Ignorance!" Three shouts agreed with him.

"Please…" The man tried to reason, "It was just business…We're just starting out and their company gave us the best deal—"

"Just business?!" Wolffe's foot collided with Zayne's jaw and sent him flat on the floor. "It's always about _business _ with you people. The value of the dollar. Never the value of lives." Ariadne glimpsed around her. Grant was behind her several hoods back, shaking his head disdainfully. Others surrounding her were crossing arms over their chests or cracking their knuckles. All expressions were dark and filled with judgment. Even Mila's. The Black growled, "We'll teach_ you_ the value of lives…"

The Architect could see Zayne's hands begin to shake, "Please. My family has nothing to do with my profession. They had no part in the decision."

Liv, the woman in Black stepped forward, "Still the lesson has to be taught. You need to feel the repercussions your victims have felt."

David and Wolffe linked their arms through the man's and stood him up while he made frantic promises and pointless bribes, "I'll break contract. I'll cut GG Oils off. I'll shut down the business if that's what you want!" Liv tickled his chin, "Sweetie, its cowardly of you to offer that _now. _What's done is done. You cannot take that back. You've committed wrongdoing."

"What do we do Hoods?" yelled another Black blended somewhere in the mass.

They shouted in sync, "Hold everyone accountable," with the exception of Ariadne who'd only whispered it. And only because she felt the heavy eyes of Liv staring her down. Zayne was re-gagged and removed from the room and all but a small collection of selected Browns were dismissed. The Architect turned her back as soon as permission was given and set foot for the pipe-room to accompany Mila while she worked. Halfway through the tunnel, a hand caught her shoulder. It was Mac. "Wolffe has requested I escort you to the Dig." Her breath got hung up on something in her throat and just as she was coming up with an excuse to refuse, he was already hastily tugging on her and guiding her into the dug-out. "Excellent…" Bruce chimed upon seeing her. Ariadne, however, only had eyes for the poor group of individuals lined up against the back wall of one of the cells.

It was the familiar dark haired, suited man, she'd seen a few seconds previous. His eyes begged forgiveness from the slim blonde woman restrained next to him who—while crying—tried to comfort the two small forms in between them. "Introducing: Zayne," Wolffe then pointed to the woman, "Amelia," then at the two children, "Clara and Danny Walker." Ariadne felt herself moved backwards by hands on her hips and then a collision with a sturdy male body. "What do you think of this little family, Red?" Her brows creased and she took a cursory glance at Mac (who was grabbing Polaroid cameras off the wall. She's only witnessed it once thus far but she already knew what that meant). Wolffe continued to talk in her ear, "Don't they seem perfect? Like the kind of family Hitler would love." Liv and another Black named Don pulled out knives and cocked and held them at level with the two adult's heads. The children squealed, the mother's eyes shut tight and the father kept a cool gaze on his family (radiating assurance he couldn't guarantee). Ariadne leapt forward, held back by the beast's limbs. He cooed at her, "And Ariadne's bleeding heart comes to the rescue again…" His chuckle was the most grating sound known to man, "Tell you what, Red, I'll let you pick two of them to save."

The Architect looked back at him, shocked. "Think of this as a gift. Pick two of them to spare." Her mind raced and she searched all four of their faces like they would tell her the answer. Zayne and Amelia's clearly pleaded with her to pick the children, though, they didn't have to. The ages were switched—the boy, Danny, was older. Probably eight or nine and then the little girl, Clara, looked around five—but they reminded her of James and Philippa. And given the same predicament with the Cobbs in mind, she wouldn't have had to think. She would've chosen the kids. So that's what she did here. Wolffe nodded to David and Don and the men hopped down into the pit-like cell and lifted the children out. They were still tied up and gagged but they were out of the cells and that was a step in the right direction. Only problem was…as Danny and Clara were thrown out, Ariadne was pushed in. She landed on her hands and knees. When she turned to look up at where she came from, Don had hopped down with her and was carefully helping David lower down a large tin tub. Eyes wide, Ariadne then cut her stare to Bruce who stood above them all, "You're a Hood, Red. You've got to learn to hold people accountable." The girl watched in horror as Liv lowered down a hose into the tub and it started to fill with a brownish, black liquid. "Spoon-feeding you isn't working. It's sink or swim now." Somewhere above and unseen a bubble of laughter was released. Ariadne was sure it was Mac. And sure it was some morbid humor having to do with the tub. "Eye for an eye. Tooth for a tooth. Life for a life. You want to save those two lives? Then you have to take two." The Architect's head shook in disbelief and refusal; she looked back at the couple and saw their heads doing the same only with more sobs.

Bruce steeled, "It's either take four or take two—"

"TMMH!" The mother attempted to yell while gagged.

Ariadne made sure to look at Amelia and let her know she'd do whatever she could to help save their children, then her eyes darkened before she hesitantly nodded at Wolffe. He grinned, "Put Mrs. Walker in the tub." Zayne fought against his restraints and rammed into Ariadne, knocking her down. Everything after that happened fast. Wolffe dove into the pit and shoved Zayne into the back of the cell while the kids were dragged to the edge with knives at their throats, all to the tune of Mr. and Mrs. Walker's grunts and the children's screams. "Mac," demanded Bruce. The Hood called switched places with Liv and dropped down into the cell with them. It was like he and Wolffe thought with the same mind. All that needed to be said was his name, no other instructions or signals, and he knew exactly was he was required to do. Exactly what Bruce wanted carried out and how. His arms spiraled around Amelia Walker's waist and practically threw her into the tub.

The oil splashed up everywhere like they were at Sea World and Shamu just threw his tail in their faces. It flew up and rained down on them, soaked Ariadne's shirt and dampened her hair. Mac looked no better than she. The Architect held her hands away from her and looked down to survey herself and process the substance before Wolffe announced, "Drown her." He also undid Zayne's gag to make sure they could hear every beseeching word. Just as Bruce was too strong for Ariadne to overpower, he was too strong for Mr. Walker. "No! Please! Leave them alone!"

"Consequences, Mr. Walker." Liv twirled the knife and made it gleam at them.

"Then me first. Please."

"Zayne, sweetie," Wolffe condescended, "Do you think any of those animals in the Mississippi had a say on how and in what order they died?" The suited man let out another strangled 'Please' and the woman splashed about, trying to get out. The verbal assault resumed over the scared tears of the kids, "No. They didn't. They just drowned in oil. And you will suffer the same fate your victims did _after _you watch it happen to your wife." Bruce's black eyes sparkled, "Don get the Polaroid. Mac…help Red dispose of these monsters."

Ariadne stumbled backwards from the tub and ran into Mac's arms pushing her forward forcibly. She wriggled to be free of him but her wrists were grabbed and the edge of the tub pressed sharply into her midriff. She may have involuntarily cowered down when Wolffe howled, "Drown her or slit Danny and Clara's throats. Which would you rather be responsible for? I won't wait until you're good and ready," The Architect met Amelia's eyes. The woman had stilled and accepted her fate, accepted to sacrifice herself for her children. Perfect blue eyes, mascara running down, blonde curls matted, she nodded once. As if to say she already forgave Ariadne.

Unsteadily, for she'd never done this before, the Red hood's hands slid to the Blonde's shoulders. She glanced up at the kids and emitted remorse from every pore. And when she looked down again every trace of it was gone. There was no way Ariadne could've done it in her normal state of mind. To have thought sad thoughts and repercussions and to analyze the brutality of the action while performing it. To listen to Mr. Walker's raspy begging and children sobbing and heartbreak in every note and comprehend it. To hear that man screaming in mental and emotional agony and imagine what it would feel like were she in his place and Arthur in Amelia's. Ariadne did not acknowledge the tub she was leaning on or the slick liquid coating her from fingertip to shoulder. She reached deep into the recesses of her mind, plucked up all the parts of it that could sense or feel and locked them up, became the Point Man and let herself numb down through the strands of every hair on her head. The Parisian zoned out at the dirt wall ahead of her ignoring the bumps and writhes and splashes beneath her for what they really were: desperate, instinctual attempts to find oxygen as oil filled her lungs and stomach. As the convulses lessened, she pressed down harder and farther. A subconscious decision based on the desire for it to be over soon.

She saw it like she watching someone else step away from the tub and wait for the head float up. Like another person helped Mrs. Walker be pulled out and tossed to the floor with a sack over her head. Like Ariadne was a fly on the wall tuning out the protests and screeches as Mr. Walker was forced in by Wolffe. Before, she could soften up again, The Architect took a deep breath, closed her eyes and let humanity be squeezed from her body. With eyes averted to the ceiling, Ariadne fell away a second time. Hands that did not seem like her own shoved the body down (with Mac's help. The man was harder to control than the woman). It was easy to convince herself Zayne was a faceless projection because that's what she wanted so badly to believe. And because it made it so simple to push his head underneath the substance and swat at his waving limbs.

And it was done.

Gradually, crawlingly slow, Ariadne flooded back into herself. The tub was overturned and the body fell soaked and limp onto the ground with gallons of oil rippling out and being absorbed into the dirt. The numbness faded away into tingling…why did her hands feel like they were on fire? Why was her face flushed? As she scanned herself, it computed. She had killed two people. A man and woman. A husband and wife. Parents of—she shot a worried look at Danny and Clara, on their knees, watching the scene from the top of the cell. Tears streaked down their faces and they looked at her—not Bruce, not Mac, not Don or Liv—with intense fear, distrust, and a sliver of hatred.

The bodies. The tears. Her oil-covered arms. The _bodies._ The _tears. _Her _oil-covered arms._ Ariadne made them orphans. _You kept them alive! _She murdered their parents. _You traded two lives for two. _They weren't lives she had the authority to take. _I was forced! _No one forced her hands on their necks. No one forced her to hold them under robotically. _They would've killed all four of them. _But Ariadne wouldn't have been responsible for killing two. She wouldn't be blood-guilty…The next time she looked at her hands the oil looked like blood. The Architect back up like wildfire. Like somehow she could escape herself if she went fast enough. Once her back hit the hard surface she slid to the ground (not minding the oil she sat in) and covered her head. Her own tears began to well up and release…in a matter of minutes and after one hastily made decision she'd done what she'd been struggling not to: she'd become one of them. She'd allowed herself to be molded and manipulated by them. The only consolation was that the kids were alive. Ariadne had not realized that her body was racking with sobs. That she was pulling at her hair, greasing it up. That she was grunting, "I'm sorry…I'm so sorry…" over and over and over. Wolffe ordered her to be escorted out. Said that it wouldn't do for the children to hear her regret. They should know what tragedies their parents' selfishness and greed brought upon them all and that they should not be grieved for something they deserved. As she was making her way into the dining hall, she heard, "Kill the kids."

Ariadne didn't make it to them in time. Childish screams ricocheted through the air. She sprinted through the entryway only to be held back by Don and Liv and only to see Clara already choking on the ground and Danny slumping down. Right away, her anger bubbled and exploded, "You said I could pick two lives to spare!"

"Yes, Dear, two lives for _you _to spare. Not for _me _to spare."

Her voice began to rasp in despair but it seethed with resentment, "So I drowned their parents in front of them for _nothing_?! I killed two people for nothing?!"

Don patted her back, "You did it to show you were capable." Wolffe simpered from across the room, "Congratulations, Red. You are." She stormed from the scene before she had a mental breakdown.  
xxxxxx

Ariadne marched into the pipe room and stared vehemently, "Do you—Can you get me one of those universal key cards?"

The Chemist answered monotonously. She was preoccupied with her job for the morning shift: Working the pipes that transferred their waste to the compost yard. "Only the Blacks have those." Once Mila turned her attention to the Architect, her eyebrows raised at the oil covered figure who pulled her cloak on as Mila asked, "What the hell happened to you?"

"Don't…" Ariadne pulled her hood farther over her head to avoid the chance of anyone reading her lips and lowered her tone a note below a whisper, "I need to lock my box on red." A term that meant she needed to make it a restricted access room. Her "box"-already explained as her individual cube shaped bunk room could be locked on "red" by using a special id card only the founders (Black Hoods) possessed. It could make any room inaccessible to every card, even other Universal ones, because the same card used to lock on red had to be used to unlock. That is why when Wolffe locked her room on red the first night he attacked her, she was powerless to leave the stone box until his card restored access to the only escape. If Ariadne could lock herself in, even Wolffe's would not be able to override it unless he could retrieve the card she used—which would be safely inside with her.

Rusty pulled one of the levers and pursed her lips at her counterpart, "Why are you asking _me_? Why don't you ask someone who owns one?" Her finger typed a series of keys and pressed a green button to open another few pipe ways, "Like Wolffe. He's definitely sweet on you," Smirked Mila at the tiny Red hood beside her, "Why don't you ask him? I'm sure he'd get you whatever you wanted if you didn't avoid him like the plague." An orange light beeped—the alert that the chute had compressed its limit—so the Chemist pulled another lever to send it up to the compost yard.

"He's the one I need to lock out." Ariadne's eyes fell down to her fingers which were fidgeting and mindlessly picking at the control panel. Rusty sighed exasperatedly, "Why do you act like that? You know you're lucky." She slammed her thumb down on a blue button and faced Ariadne with her hand on her hip, "Everyone says that we're equal but the Blacks have more privileges than the Browns—granted more responsibilities—Every single Hood wants to be on Bruce's good side. Everyone wants to be his right hand man…everyone wants to be special to him and he's taken a liking to you. He has your meals hot and waiting for you, you don't have to wait two weeks for your turn to launder, he has Hoods go into the city and pick you up bags of new threads—he sends new sheets every day." Ariadne broke her thumbnail pressing down so hard on the edge of the panel. "You get access to sit in with him on all the meetings…and you don't even have to work on rotation for all of those perks. Appreciate it."

Appreciate it? Appreciate shoving meals down her throat that she'll only throw up later? Appreciate new sheets every morning because the other ones are soiled with blood and substances she doesn't want to think about much less stomach the stench of? Appreciate the clothes her abuser has picked out because hers are ripped and stained and unwearable? Appreciate being made to sit in and listen to all of the heinous, blood-spilling plans of the Hood Organization while Wolffe's hand roams and grabs at her under the table? Appreciate being tricked and forced into choking out lives with her bare hands? Ariadne's fist slammed down as her head popped up to meet Rusty's eyes, angry, "Can you get me one or not?" Then the Architect softened. Mila didn't know what she was going through…being angry with her wouldn't get her the key card. She rested her hand on the Chemists, "Please?"

The darker woman searched her friend's eyes. There was fear in them; more than fear, there was hope. A tremendous amount of it all reach out from Ariadne and into her. All of Ariadne's faith was resting in her answer but ,"I can't risk it. I'm not close enough to a Black to try and if I did, I'd get worse than the Con Dig. I've been punished there once and I ain't going back. Ask someone else."

"Please, Rusty…" then for more pull she used the Chemist's real name, "Mila…you're the only one I feel I can trust with this. I _need_ that card, I need your help. _Please._"

"I've got third shift in the control room watching the tvs. I'll see if I can't find and swipe an extra."

Xxxxxx

They met in the dining hall at dinner, sat very close to one another. The card was passed to Ariadne by tray while they chattered on about Mila's work in the pipes and that maybe Ariadne would join rotation and work with the monitors, things to keep Grant and a few other Browns tuned into their conversation and not the slipping of hands and the stashing of cards. Before departing, Ariadne grabbed a small basket and filled it with fruit and some water jugs…little enough to claim she was stocking up for her nightly midnight snacks for the week but plentiful enough to stay locked in her box for at least 2 or 3 days if she stretched it.

Naturally she passed through the main arena where the clocks and the monitors once dazzled her. The area was vacant—everyone had retired for dinner break and had set the tvs to record so they could review them later. A royal blue glowed through the space, colored by the screens. What time was is it home in Paris? 2:40 in the morning…Was Arthur in Paris? Maybe he was back stateside. Maybe he was in New York on a job…maybe he was in California visiting Cobb. If so… it was 5:40 where he was. Probably hadn't even eaten dinner yet. God, what she wouldn't do to hear the warm, gentle hum of his voice telling her everything would be ok. In person, though. She heard him telling her to close her eyes and countdown every time Wolffe threw himself on her but nothing compared to having him there: Smoothing her hair, dabbing off her wounds, telling her he was going to fix it, he was going to make sure Wolffe never laid a finger on her again. Her vision panned over the various monitors: stoplight cameras in Russia capturing and then zooming in on each face to pass through, hidden cameras outside squished houses in Germany following a man in a brown suit and newsboy cap, at the docks in what looked like Cannes recording shaky footage of a woman in a three piece skirt suit and short black hair with her husband and little girl, A camera focused on a window of a house on a cliff in America judging by the architecture of the house. A man at the dinner table with his two children. All blonde. Another was security footage in a grocery—wait—  
That family in the house on the cliff…the Cobbs. They were watching the Cobbs. The bottom of the screen clearly labeled 'LA, CA, USA.' Ariadne's eyes darted over the different sized screens. There- a camera in the midst of crowded dirt streets was a storefront in 'Mombasa, Africa." Yusuf…that must be Yusuf. Now her eyes flitted and searched for the tall slender figure she knew so well, he could be in any country on any screen. Back behind the station, there was binder full of screen numbers, locations, names. There were three Arthur's on file but it was easy to find which one was hers: the lack of a last name. She—apart from his family and surely Dom—was the only one who knew it to be Nolan. Seeing his picture felt like a warm blanket had been placed over her shivering form. Plainly stated his monitor was Screen 65. It was quite an errand to find the switch for the screen but when found she zoomed the camera in on his window. He was in a hotel room in Wellington, New Zealand. All that was visible was his shadow pacing back and forth. Ariadne picked up on his hand gestures, how one seemed to remain by his head and knew he must be on the phone. Striking deals with new clients, reassuring a current one, organizing a meeting. Somehow the events of the past month and more were fogged over. How was Arthur? What had he been doing? Had he completed a job? Did he live out of hotels or had he settled back in his old place in New York? Had he been to Paris to check on her? Every sense was so zoned into her mental reunion with Arthur that she didn't notice the two hands placed on either side of her. "He doesn't seem to miss you," Wolffe chided before a kiss on her earlobe. She leaned away from him. "He's been trotting all over New Zealand and Australia…spent a week in the Keys…he's been busy. Not once has he ventured over to your side of the woods." Her elbow jutted into his rib and she pressed the button to zoom in again. Arthur had taken his phone conversation to his balcony. His tie was undone and dangling floppily, his sleeves rolled to his elbows showing off the veins in his forearm she'd traced so many times. He was wearing his grey and navy pinstripe vest and pants, though the vest was unbuttoned and though his hair-which seemed longer than normal-was gelled back immaculately, he had not shaved. In a few days…maybe a week. Arthur never went a day with facial hair; he wouldn't even grow it out to a reasonable length and trim it to keep it clean looking like Eames, sometimes Dom and Yusuf. He ran his hand over his face and picked up a bottle up beer. He didn't drink beer…he was wine or vodka man. He looked different.

He looked unhappy.

Why had they done this to themselves? Why did he leave? And why hadn't she refused to let him go? Then his screen went black. Startled, she looked down and fumbled for the switch to turn it back on where Wolffe's hand rested. Upset, her hooded head raised to meet his displeased stare, "I think that's enough pining over your Point Man." Her jaw ground against itself; her head whipped to look at his screen, willing it with her brain power to turn back on of its own accord. The familiar calloused paw of the Hood's spread across her face and pried her head towards him. "You should be looking at _me _that way." Still, Ariadne's eyeballs cut to the side to dodge his. Bruce pressed his face into hers. Their hoods clashed together to create a barrier from the rest of the world, "What will it take to get him out of your head?" Her lids had already clasped over her eyes and the numbers flying through her mind like clockwork, "Do I have to screw all thoughts of him out of you? Hm?" She heard silence and then the crunch of what sounded like him biting into an apple and she could smell the juices of its flavor as he breathed on her. He'd taken one from her basket…Her eyes peeped open. "Bringing goodies to someone little, Red?"

Ariadne didn't answer—only stiffened and stifled a whimper of fright as he snuck a hand under her shirt and joked, "It's ok; I'm not jealous…the goodies I get are better." He cast a last glare at Arthur's blank screen and stalked away as Hoods were emerging from the halls ready for work.  
xxxxxx

The Black Hood would come for her with a vengeance that night. He would be more violent, more determined, more sadistic than ever. After switching Arthur's screen back on (he'd gone back inside and his lights were out), Ariadne hastily took refuge in her room with the card from Mila and put it on restricted access. The feeling of late night approached; the crawling sensation that something wicked her way was coming settled in her stomach not long after. So she pulled out Arthur's red and white shirt, wrapped it around herself and curled up with a pillow in the corner farthest from the door. "Knock knock," laughed the predator before confidently swiping his card. Ariadne squashed the pillow against her chest waiting for the verdict. Would it work? Would he find a way in? She had the card right? He couldn't, could he? **BEEP.** The door had remained shut! A thankful breath rushed from her chest and her head rested on the wall. "Ariadne... Let me in," He demanded.

A new sense of power alighted in her. What would he do? Huff and puff and-"I know you're in there, Red. And I swear to God I will bust the door down." The sounds of the card swiping and the computerized panel rejecting it were heard over and over. "Who the hell got you a U-Card?!" Getting faster. The Architect's face buried into her pillow when the thunderous thuds of his fists beating the metal door echoed through her box. "Ariadne! Damnit Red! Open this door!" She swore she could feel the vibrations of his body throwing itself into the entrance of her box—she held her hood over her eyes and counted.

_31. _The numbers had dwindled down to 31 when the shouting, cussing and reverberating bangs had ceased. Silence was such an unexpected change that her ears started ringing. Fifteen minutes, twenty minutes, and Ariadne had begun to doze off in her corner. **BANG. BANG. **"Ariadne! Please!" It was her friend—it was Mila's voice gruff and wavering with tears. Wolffe's followed, "Rusty has done something dishonorable... She has given in to temptation and stolen from the Brotherhood. She has severed our trust and given certain power to someone who doesn't deserve it." How did he find out Mila helped her? Had someone seen them? Mila would never turn herself in. Perhaps, he'd narrowed it down by process of elimination. "You know that people we can't trust become Prisoners of War. You know she'll suffer extreme consequences in front of the Hoods for taking that key card." Rusty erupted into sobs and pained wheezing. "…Unless, you open this door and I find the card and this has all been a misunderstanding…I think Mila would be grateful for that…"

"Please, Ariadne, please, please, please, Ariadne, please." A never ending stream. What could she do? Mila had only done it to help Ariadne even if regretfully. Was the Architect about to let them take her to the Consequence Dig for it? How could she just sit there in silence until the Chemist was reduced to one of the moaning vegetables stored away farther underground? She really believed she would have a night or two in peace…and the reality of that belief shattering made Ariadne start to cry. It was imperative she open that door and save a life. Even if Ariadne ignored the both of them and rode it out, he would find a way in. He would pull apart the door panel, he would find which key she'd used and order a duplicate, he would start threatening other people—people she loved, people up above—and she will have wasted a life or two or three for one halfway good night's sleep. And hadn't she already been the cause of enough suffering today? Heaving, she picked her sore body off the ground and dragged to the door. Face red, tears streaming, hands shaking, she unlocked the door.

Mila's already bleeding nose and black eye greeted her. The card was snatched out Ariadne's grip and shoved into the Chemist's, "You go wait by the pipes. Ariadne and I will come up with an excuse to rectify this." Though beaten and probably traumatized, Ariadne envied the other woman as she limped off, profusely thanking the both of them. At least the Parisian could spare someone else the wrath of Wolffe if she couldn't spare herself. Hadn't her Papa always reminded her: "Rien n'est hasard, mon cher, nous vivons de par leur"? In English: Nothing is chance, dear one, we live by design. So intensely was that principle ingrained in her since birth. When unpleasant things or unfair things happened in her life it was 'nothing is chance, dear one, we live by design.' When her middle school art class had been canceled and she'd been infuriated and upset that the only other extracurricular class with enough credits was the woodshop and carpentry class it proved to be the best thing that could've happened. It was by fate she'd had to take carpentry. That semester they were designing and building their own dollhouses and that's when Ariadne found out she wanted to be an Architect and create structures for a living. When they'd found her a nice 2001 Buick at the car yard for her first car—the first decent one they found in their price range—and it had been bought out by another buyer who took the sale price when her father had haggled, she thought her sixteen year old life was over. She'd end up with her mother's 1994 chipped blue Toyota... But had she already bought that car she wouldn't have been looking when one of her mother's coworkers sold their brand new red Volkswagen beetle because they were starting a family and needed an SUV instead. And when she accidentally sent her portfolio to the Architecture department of a school she hadn't even applied for instead of to The Universite Paris Sorbonne…it had to have been destiny. Because then she would've never been offered a half scholarship from the Ecole Nationale Superieure d'Architecture nor would she have become the protégé of Professor Stephen Miles and therefore never met Cobb and learned Dreamshare. And she never would've met Arthur.

So as grim as things looked now, maybe this was fate. Maybe a greater good was waiting down the road and maybe that greater good wasn't actually for _her_ best interest. Maybe it was for others. Maybe everything in her life had led her to this point-even her fight with Arthur, their breakup, her stubborn signature on the contract. Maybe she was put on this earth to distract Wolffe's attentions from others. To keep him from disposing of Dominic Cobb, William Eames, Yusuf Haryana and Arthur Nolan. To keep him from killing Mila Nguyen. To keep him from assaulting other women because he was so focused on her. Maybe she was some sort of catalyst. Maybe years from then, Wolffe would run into a mark with a trained subconscious and drop into limbo, maybe he'd be assassinated and get what he deserved, maybe he'd get involved with the wrong team, be conned and end up in jail and she would be one of the people who'd introduced him to dreams, who sent him down that path of ultimate karma…

Wolffe was brutal in the midst of his fury. Cussing her out, doing as he pleased. He choked her and slapped her and spit on her. His rage knew no boundaries. Her nails had scratched jagged lines in his face and back. Her desperate refusals just served to provoke him more. For the first time, Ariadne knew what it felt like to want to die. She'd counted backwards from a hundred too many times to name. After all, he tortured her for hours. Taking her as many times as he damn well pleased. Ariadne had started out uncontrollable, hysterical. Like a child throwing a tantrum. She bit and slapped and scratched and punched and kicked and flailed and screamed. Used every strength to fuel her groin muscles to keep her legs closed off from him. In effect, she'd probably wake up with those muscles torn and pulled since he found a way to wrench them apart. When he ransacked her room and dug through her duffel and then defiled her scarves by using them as restraints she had sobbed. Because there was nothing she could possibly do. Ariadne inconsolably bawled and twisted her head so that her eyes would be covered by her hood. She took every comfort from the woolen burgundy garment. And when it was all done and she couldn't move, couldn't speak, her mind had drifted off to another world. She was about four again, in the sunshine, playing in the lake with her cousins, trying to remember what happiness and safety had felt like. The Architect let that be the image that took her hand and pulled her into a dreamless, worriless sleep.  
xxxxxx

When she awoke there was no feeling in her arms. Her hands throbbed, looking purple and swollen when she looked up at them. She was still tied to a bed but had magically been changed into a white sundress. The red cloak lay neatly beneath her, the hood still pulled over her face. Ariadne attempted to use her feet to push her up into a sitting position but the slightest movement sent twinges of pain through her. Then out of the facilities Wolffe pranced to her bedside, "Good morning to you…I've moved your things to my box. You'll be staying with me now."

Her stomach dropped. He assured her, "Don't worry, I've told everyone you're ill and that I've moved you to the medical boxes to be cared for properly." His eyebrows wiggled. Ariadne's voice cracked when she asked where Mila was and if she could see her but he shook his head pityingly, "I'm afraid you two aren't good influences for each other. Besides, you can't have any visitors. If they saw you tied up like this; they might get the wrong idea." She wished he wouldn't wink at her. "Now—I've got some goodies for breakfast." As her abuser stood to retrieve the tray, Ariadne caught sight of several little bottles stacked on the desk next to a syringe and a needle. On second inspection of her arms, she noticed a fresh puncture hole in her forearm. He had tranquilized her or sedated her in order to change her and bring her here without protest and by the abundance of his collection, he was planning on doing it again. She flitted her eyes away when he sat by her again and stuck a forkful of omelet and venison in her face. Ariadne sealed her lips and refused to take a bite, even turning her head away as he waved it around. He took delight in poking her cheek with it. "Eat Ariadne." Her head shook no enthusiastically. Then his hand was anchoring the back of her head and pushing it to the hand holding the fork. "Eat. I made them prepare this breakfast special for you." Still she denied opening her mouth. Aggravated, Wolffe plopped a spoonful of oatmeal on her face and let the glob run down her cheek, drop onto her neck, and then fall to the bed in her hair. He slapped her stomach, "You're getting pudgy as it is. Maybe it is a good idea to lay off the venison."

Was there a way she could persuade him to untie her hands? "I have to go to the bathroom."

"Ok." Instead of reaching above her head to release her chaffing wrists he reached below the bed and pulled out a pan. "You're not leaving this bed. I've learned my lesson with you."

The Architect's eyes widened. This is what she'd been reduced to? They were ripping every right from her that they could. First, she'd lost control over her own body and now she couldn't even feed herself or use the bathroom in private without assistance. It was humiliating. "But I have good news…we're planning a counterattack on Gatu-Geaux in about two and a half months. The nightmares didn't take…but we're putting together something bigger and better to get our point across. If you're a good little girl, Red, maybe you'll get to see the sunshine again."

Xxxxxx

Two and a half months. Two and a half months of pure misery. She was no longer Ariadne, not the one she or anyone else knew. She'd transformed into an object. A possession. A shell of degradation, worthlessness, hopelessness. Once so fearless, now, so afraid. Creaks of the bedframe, the hinges of doors, footsteps, darkness, shadows, eyes, hands, voices, words, growling, breathing, the dripping of water, the rustle of sheets, zippers, scarves, needles, sleeping, dreaming, living, seeing…it all made her fearful. Her head turned at every click, she imagined movement on the walls when there was none. She remained constantly petrified of when he would come back. There was no matter of if. Her red cloak became her most valued possession. It was soft and warm and anytime something horrible happened she could hold the hood over her eyes. She was in constant pain. Even Wolffe was not a fan of her appearing bedsores. That's why just after two weeks of her bed-ridden state, he hadn't stuck to his resolve of keeping her tied down to it but his box became her prison cell. It remained locked on red and her arms and feet were never untied. The door to their facilities was taken off so more of her privacy would be stripped, she normally required help to use the bathroom anyways. Sometimes he would throw her on the floor of the bathroom and hose her off: her shower for the week he would say.

Something had been particularly troubling her lately: she was starving. All the time. The meals brought in for her breakfast, lunch and dinner were too small, no matter how large the quantity. Ariadne was beginning to look malnourished: Her neck, arms and legs were skinnier than when she arrived but her stomach poked out. And Ariadne hadn't had a period in months…What was worse was the fact that everything she needed, everything her body did was on display. Every private matter was made known to Wolffe and he was beginning to sense a change in her as well. One of the Hoods had a brother in the medical field. Tomorrow they were starting out on a long road trip to set fire to a Gatu Geaux establishment and Ariadne would be dragged along with them, tied up in the back of the van, so that when the job was done they would sneak the Hood's brother to see her and determine at last if she was pregnant or not. If she was, little did that man know, he was coming back to the woods with them as her personal doctor.

Bruce had been especially 'lovey dovey' in regards to her since he began suspecting her impregnation. Not that his ministrations ceased. But the dosage in sedative given her every night had lessened and he scarcely left his box. He was always all over her. Kissing and petting. It made Ariadne more uncomfortable than his roughness before had. It was strange. Wolffe acted happy, though there was a stronger air of superiority when he was around her. As if he had won the ultimate battle. Like this pushing and pulling had been a game between them and he'd finally beaten her. Ariadne now had something of his growing inside her, he was a part of her, he would always be there whether he was in the room with her or not. This baby—this child—was his. And every time she held it, looked at it, Ariadne would be forced to recognize it as his. It was proof of Wolffe's conquest. That's why he prided in it. He acted more concerned over the assumed fetus' well being than the mother's. He beat Ariadne, screamed at her, made her endure his sexual attentions no matter how she begged for him to leave her alone… But he shoved food down her for that baby. It was like the only part of her body he was gentle with was her stomach. Gentle used as a relative term here. And for all anyone else knew, Ariadne had developed a strange disease and was being kept over in the Blacks' wing to quarantine and or treat her. No one was allowed to see her. The truth of her condition, Wolffe kept as a secret. One of many things he hid from his followers who thought they were equals.

To Ariadne, the alleged fetus was like a parasite. Like a tapeworm. Something else of Bruce's trying to take over her life. Finding new ways to own her, to debilitate her. She never touched her belly. Never felt it or rubbed it, nothing comforting or welcoming. Of course she knew it wasn't the presumed baby's fault. But she couldn't help it. She could not shake the feeling of hating it because she hated the father. The Architect was a victim of post-partum depression before the confirmation she was even pregnant.

xxxxxx

Ariadne welcomed the blindness and the chills and the extreme awareness that came with her ascent this time. It was the most alive she'd felt in months. It was the most she'd felt period. Everything down to the gravel on the road and the bugs splattered on the windshield was beautiful to the Architect. She'd been dreaming of reacquainting with the world. Some of the Browns and Rusty were visibly happy to see her…Mila's face was filled with concern every time she made eye contact with Ariadne. Unbeknownst to Ariadne, Rusty had been the one mixing substances and creating the custom drug Wolffe had been injecting her with. Except the Chemist was made to believe they were medicating her, that the substances were keeping her from doing harm to herself. Grant had also had a hand in Ariadne's sufferings without being aware. His expertise with computers had gotten him the lead role in extracting Ariadne's existence from the internet. It was something each Hood had to lose at one point or another but on the norm it was when the person decided they wanted to join the organization for good. See, Wolffe was keeping tabs on who searched for her, who was beginning to ask questions…and with his eyes trained on her Point Man as well…he was beginning to see Arthur's concern. Arthur was pulling the web apart and calling her phones. Wolffe was immediate in rectifying it.

Of course her companions weren't allowed to talk to her during the van ride, the lower half of the Parisian's face was enclosed in a medical mask because they "weren't sure what could trigger her" and her Hood covered the other half. She sat with her face pressed against the window, flexing and un-flexing her hands. The swelling had gone down in the few hours she had been without her restraints. (How would Wolffe explain having to tie her up?) They pulled inconspicuously into one of the back parking lots and loaded themselves out. Each one lifted their menacing hoods to create endless abyss' where their faces were. Wolffe leaned back in and peered into Ariadne's cowl, "If I come back and you're not in this van, Red…I swear to God Arthur will be dead with the snap of my fingers. And the poor Cobb family won't be too far behind."

"What a big heart you have…" muffled Ariadne sarcastically but weaker than her usual fire.

"The better to love you with my Dear," his paw circled her stomach mockingly, "Apparently."

The door slammed shut. Ariadne lunged for a discarded rubber band in the floor and twisted it around the lock so that when the knobs disappeared into the car door, the ridge of hers jammed. She waited a good fifteen minutes, until their bodies could no longer be seen before she dared unlock the door and slide it open. It took three tries since her arm muscles had weakened. The Architect was already out of breath. There was no way she could make it inside and plea for help. The building—number one) was two more parking lots away and number two) was fixing to be blown to hell. She was positive the Hoods were thorough and organized in their plans, so she wasn't sure how long this raid would take them, she wasn't sure how much time she had but at least enough to leave someone a message.

Luckily at the edge of the parking lot the van was stationed in was a bus station bench and a payphone. She stumbled (and crawled) her way there (gritting her teeth and making her sore, barely used muscles work), used a trick Eames had taught her about fooling the change system and then slid against the glass to sit. All too soon, her breaths were quick and heavy. Her leg muscles were spent for the day, aching with exhaustion. Her heart was beating out of its chest and her eyes closed. This time not out of fear but out of sheer will power. She prayed to every deity, wished on every star that someone would answer her. Or the phone would stop ringing and she could spurt out a quick message. Her eyes darted to the building looking for signs of the Hoods' work being completed; she slumped down further to be hidden from view should one of them look out the windows to check. And then— the ringing halted. There was a beat of static and human breath.

Ariadne gasped and smiled despite the direness of her situation, "Arthur?"

"Ariadne?" _Thank God. Thank God, Thank God, _she thought. "Where are you? Where have you been?" The distraught in his voice was easily noticed but the fact that it was _his _voice overruled everything surrounding her. The girl opened her mouth, beyond ready to all but give him exact coordinates. But what if they'd foreseen she would call him and bugged his phone—they were watching him like a hawk, anticipating a wrong move on her part. Even if they hadn't bugged him, they must know he was talking to someone and if he jumped on a plane that night to the Woods then they would connect the dots. They were intelligent. Too intelligent. So she tried to skirt around it. "I can't tell you."

"Like hell you can't." She almost missed the clip in his voice when he was upset. Settling for as little truth as she could offer, she answered and picked at the metal cord to distract her nerves as she did so. "I'm at a payphone. We're finishing a job somewhere. I can't talk long I just n—miss your voice." Ariadne was certain he had detected the scratchiness of her voice (it was permanently raspy from the yelling and the weeping) and was analyzing it.

"Please tell me you aren't with _them_. Tell me you're not hooded." What was the Architect supposed to do? Lie? Tell him she wasn't for his sanity even as the burgundy fell in front of her eyes? Her head reared back and rested on the glass of the phone box. "Shit, Ariadne."

The sudden urge to explain herself to him became unbearable. "Not voluntarily. I turned them down. They don't take no for an answer." And once she started, it was easy to keep going, "Ingams—has been a Hood for years, they—they've been planning on taking me since the Greenpeace job. He's been watching us for them all year. He knew where we lived. He'd been sending pictures of us to Wolffe—" her voice started shaking "They wouldn't let me go after the contract was up… And they-"

"Have they touched you like—like that?" Ariadne closed her eyes and hit her head on the box behind her. Of course he would ask that…her mouth started to form words several times without finishing before she choked out, "Not all of-just—just—" She couldn't even say his name without wanting to suffocate herself.

"Who? Tell me who. What has he done to you?"

His incensed tone was virtually too much to handle. Ariadne flinched. She felt unreasonably guilty for all that had happened to her. She didn't _allow_ Wolffe to do those things, she didn't consent, but it had happened. And she couldn't stop it. She tried. There was no way she could relay everything Wolffe had done to her or made her do to him. Arthur would be livid…and the thought of it all made her stomach churn again. It was difficult for her to comprehend in her own mind much less admit out loud. Her eyes grazed over her purpled skin, the rope burn on her wrists and she breathed hesitantly, "Please don't make me answer that."

"Where are you? I'm coming to get you right now."

Technically, Ariadne could tell him where she was currently but they wouldn't be there long. She twisted her head a hair to check behind her for sign of the job's progression. Nothing yet. The rhythm of the Architect's speech sped up with the uncertainty of the time she had left, "I told you I can't say. They've got eyes on you. If you hop on a plane tonight they'll know why."

"Please let me come get you. I can fix this, Baby; Just give me a hint and I'll figure it out." There was nothing in the world she'd ever wanted to be truer. Everything—her mouth, her mind, her body-itched to tell him where. Yearned to be able to share her knowledge. But people were watching him, listening to him and those people were Hoods. Hoods were dangerous, blood guilty, filthy creatures. She'd have to hope he could find out where she was through the little she'd let herself convey. Over her shoulder, she saw two windows blow out and panicked citizens in suits start to leave the building. "I've got to go." Ariadne pushed with her feet and used the glass behind her as leverage to try to stand up.

"No-wait!"

"Please, just let me hang up…"sighed the Architect, halfway distracted by the building. A chunk of the roof erupted in red, yellow and black and collapsed. The set up was complete and the Company towers would be demolished from the inside out…the Hoods would be escaping any second now.

"Stay on the line a few minutes longer; I can trace you. Stay talking to me Ariadne."

Shaking her head, her voice cracked, "I don't have a few minutes. I've _got to. go_. They're coming." Her heart was palpitating. Though fear was a recurring emotion in Ariadne's daily life, she would never be used to its fangs in her blood stream.

"Seconds, Ari, I only need seconds. Please, baby, stay with me." She peered through the screaming stragglers running from the building and searched all exits looking for faceless cloaks. Arthur couldn't see her but she shook her head anyways. More of a nervous habit than anything. "If I'm not back in the van before they are they'll kill me. And you. And the Cobbs. I've _got to._ Go."

"Ok. Listen…I'm coming for you. Remember that for me. There's only 20 percent to load before a full connection…leave the phone off the hook."

God…if she could record his voice and save it in her brain…If she could just pull him out of the receiver…if she could stay on the phone with him forever: the strength and the courage and control she'd lost might be restored…With watery eyes, she noticed another explosion had taken out the center of the building. Her eyes widened and she slurred. Ariadne had thought about it. She'd found a clever way at a clue in case people were listening but in her hurriedness had a lapse in memory. Her palm met her face and rubbed. _Think, think, think. _Her knuckles turned white, gripping the phone.Lightbulb! "Second, sixth, seventh, first, fourth." Her eyes almost touched the back of her head while she rethought it, making sure she'd given him the right order….yes, she did. The girl's eyes fluttered up and with frustration and horror saw hooded heads bobbing towards her from the side exit of the building, picking off innocents with shots from their pistols.

"What—Did you hear me? Leave the phone off-"

The Architect wasn't even listening to him anymore. Her full attention on getting back to the van before they noticed. She blurted out, "Down not across," and then sprinted. Her mind fixated on the van and how far it was (and how fast her weakened limbs could get her there), she forgot she was still gripping the payphone with a vice and thus tripped, pulling the cord and disconnecting it from the box completely. Ariadne flung the useless communications device away and crawled then raced to the van. Thankfully, it wasn't the lone car in the parking lot and the view from the towers was obstructed by other vehicles. She managed to throw herself in, yank the rubber band off the lock and hold her breath in measures to slow it.

Grant hopped in the van first. He gave Ariadne a peculiar look because of her unnatural rhythm of breathing. "You ok, Red?" The Architect nodded. "A little too much excitement for you, huh?" As his eyes flitted down and fixed on the rubber band in her hand, she fisted and looked down. The rest of the Hoods filed in before he had time to think or question it.  
xxxxxx

Alright next chapter we get Arthur and the Gang back! What do you guys think of the Hoods now? Do you think things could possibly get any worse? What do you think is in store for Art next chappie and how do you think everyone will react to Ariadne's possible rapist baby?


	9. Crossword Crossroad

Well this certainly took longer than expected. But I get a break from work so the updates should be way more frequent. I hope people are still interested in this…

Thank you to _Lauraa-x: _Your reviews always make me smile. At least someone is enjoying the story! I have some pretty bad things still in store but at least we have the gang back for a while! Haha. And soon here...Ariadne and Arthur will be reunited. Sort of…ish…. ;) _Guest: _Idk if you're the same guest as last time but thanks for dropping a line! I'm glad it was horribly brilliant for you. My cousin and I came up with the drowning in oil part together. (weird family quality time…I know.) _Grace-xox: _Thank you! That makes me so happy! And I loooooooooove that you took the time to tell me that. **Huge thanks to: **_**WriterForever24 **_for following!

**Chapter 9: Crossword Crossroad**

**Present day.**

Arthur jotted down the numbers she'd given before she'd hung up. Cobb worriedly inquired, "That was Ariadne?" Paying half a mind to the rest of the men Arthur clipped, "Yes. And the Hoods took her against her will. She's been held captive for the past four months." He looked up from his paper and glowered at Cobb, "I was _right._" As he should, Cobb returned his gaze apologetically.

Eames leaned over his shoulder and read the numbers aloud, "Two, six, seven, one, four. What on earth is that?"

"Second, sixth, seventh, first, fourth. Those were the last words she said." Since Cobb had begun fiddling with his laptop and trying to redial the payphone, Arthur opened the internet on his cell and searched the series of numbers. Yusuf ran the words through his brain by muttering them to himself over and over. Maybe he thought their order would spring an idea or pattern into his mind. The new guy, John, had noticed this excitable meeting going on at Arthur's desk. (Or it seemed excitable to him.) He was never one to be left out so he sauntered over in time to hear the numbers being read off. Always one for games, he came up with something first, "Is it a zip code?"

Eames continued looking over Arthur's shoulder as he surfed the worldwide web for answers and spoke before Arthur could, "If it is…It would put her at Rio Hills Estate Rd in Delray, West Virginia."

"Her. Who's her?" John asked the air.

"Cobb move," Arthur ordered and pushed his friend from the screen in order to do work on it himself. United Airways' page came up and Arthur clicked for one ways.

Again John reasoned with himself since no one else couldn't find the time to, "Are we talking about that Adiarne chick again?"

"Shit. The closest airport to that is in Hagerstown, Maryland." He pulled up another tab, "I'll have to reserve a rental car…"

"Wait. Now," the Point was paused by Dom, "Don't you think it's premature to hop on a flight and trek to Delray?"

John agreed. Looked at Arthur like he was the biggest idiot, "You don't even know if that number is a zip code and you're fixing to travel across the country."

With two pennies, Yusuf added, "Those numbers could be anything."

The Forger ripped a piece of yellow line paper from the notepad closest and dug for the pen in his pocket, "Let's think of all the possibilities, shall we?" He jotted down 'zip code' and then looked expectantly at his team. "A safe code?" Cobb offered. And then came a suggestion from Yusuf, "What about GPS coordinates?"

John scoffed, "A five number coordinate?" He may not know what was going on but he was going to best them at it.

"Well yes, it wouldn't be the whole coordinate but the WGS84 format values out to five decimal places, preceded by a whole number—representing the cartographic value—for exact coordinates. For example: 50.19228. So she could've given us the last half of them."

Staring unintelligibly at the Chemist, "All I got from that gibberish was that we don't have the full coordinate …so—wouldn't that make that idea moot anyways?" spouted Eames. After Yusuf squinted and shrugged, the Forger scratched that bullet point off of his poorly organized list. Arthur let his attention drift from the team's brainstorm back to his original plan and started filling out flight information just in case.

"The 5 digit End-Use Code!" Again, Yusuf had a submission. Cobb was quick to ask for explanation. "When we export goods to other countries we keep track of them on the US census by form of five-digit identification codes."

Sarcastic Mr. Eames wasn't too held back with his condescension, "And that would help us find Ari how? Unless she was shipped to China with sugarcane or something."

The chemist defended himself, "I'm just trying to think of things that have five digits!"

"There are five digit text numbers…" came from John who hadn't spoken in a while.

Cobb sighed and nudged Arthur, "What exactly did she say? Did she say anything before or after?"

First, Arthur stood from his position hunched over the computer and then closed his eyes to think. He mouthed a few things before he came up with, "Before the numbers she said she had to go. And then after she said…" The Point's head shook back and forth like he didn't think he heard it right, "down not across." The Extractor's eyebrows furrowed further than they already had, "That makes less sense than the numbers." John and Yusuf watched Eames as he wrote the numbers in a row—top to bottom.

Then Arthur had a spark of cleverness, "It sounds like a crossword puzzle. What if the numbers coincide with letters?" He took the pad from Eames and the team gathered while he wrote the first letter of every number on top of each other: TSSOF. "No…" he corrected himself, "She didn't say numbers she said places. Second, sixth…" He wrote another column: SSSFF.

"Any weird correlations for that Yusy?" Eames made fun or tried to because his comment backfired when Yusuf in fact found something to match it to. "Well _actually_ the SSS could stand for the Selective Service—"

"System." Arthur finished for him and Yusuf glared and mouthed 'asshole' at the Forger, "But that's for drafting men into the military. What would that have to do with Ariadne and the Hoods?" And John made the comment that Ariadne wouldn't have had to specify whether to write it down or across because the initials were the same either way plus the fact that they had nothing to stand for FF (Yusuf may have pointed out that it could stand for FanFiction but the group found that was irrelevant to what was happening)…and aside from all that? It would've been faster for her to just give him the acronym. So they narrowed it down that whatever _it _was it was _not _an acronym.

"What about the alphabet?" Cunning Mr. Cobb took the pen from Arthur and tried out the theory. "B for two, F for six…No, that must not be right."

Arthur buried his head in his hands and grunted in frustration. "I just need to get on a plane to Delray. It's the only thing that makes sense."

"What?!" The new architect was not happy about that, "We've got to complete this job in two weeks!" His index and middle finger emphasized by poking the desk, "You can't just leave."

The Point would not be told what he couldn't do. He glared at John, "I can if Ariadne needs me. Sitting around on my ass paying attention to everything else for another two weeks isn't going to help her."

"But neither would abandoning us before a job and hiking to West Virginia just because the numbers match," intervened Yusuf.

Cobb stepped in like the leader he was and put his hands up to calm everyone down. He signaled to John to step away from Arthur and take a seat before he put a comforting hand on Arthur's back and entreated, "Look, there's only two weeks left to this job." But his friend wouldn't listen, "I can't let them hurt her for another two weeks. I can't just turn my head and ignore this for the sake of some stupid economic bill in California."

"I understand but—"

"Think if it was Mal." Cobb stilled and softened. "Think if she had called you scared to death, weeping about how these men had taken her and abused her in every way imaginable. Wouldn't you hop on a plane to the first place remotely close?"

"I'm not asking you to overlook this. I am asking you to put your feelings aside and look at this logically, like you normally would. I want to get her out of there too but we still don't know enough…" Arthur ran his hand through his hair and nodded begrudgingly. "We've nearly got this job in the bag. We don't need two more weeks of drills. I'll talk to the governor and see if we can't perform this thing this weekend. Just finish out the week here Arthur. Two days. Let us really study this before you rush out somewhere. And once the job is over—I don't know about everyone else but I'll be right there next to you to hunt these guys down. I'll send Miles, Penelope and the kids to the safe house and go with you."

"As will I." Eames added and Yusuf agreed, "Anything I can do." John hadn't said anything. It might've been awkward for him. He didn't know either Arthur or Ariadne that well and he had another job waiting on him in Germany. The rest of the team hadn't expected him to jump on the chance though and neither did they think any worse of him for staying silent. Arthur finally agreed not to hurry himself to West Virginia but made it clear that if they managed to uncover the meaning of those words before Saturday that he was gone.  
xxxxxx

The day after the job (which went down without a hitch if you were wondering), Penelope—Mile's wife and Cobb's mother in law—took James and Philippa to the park and for some frozen yogurt so that the team could congregate at Cobb's house and figure something out about Ariadne. Dom turned the tv down when they'd arrived and the lot of them surrounded the coffee table. Each had brought their own laptop and Arthur had printed out a list of the possibilities they hadn't refuted yet. Something they hadn't yet delved into was that maybe Ariadne was talking about the chronological order of things.

So first they found every company attack on record by hooded individuals and copied down the name of the city attacked. Perhaps there was a pattern. Second was Beijing, sixth was San Francisco, seventh was Cannes, first was Juno and fourth was Kenya. And the records were from a few years ago when the Hooded Organization was in its early stages of formation and their attacks subtle and disorganized. The team abandoned that theory. "What about Ariadne's jobs in that order?" Eames spurted randomly.

Arthur wrote down: Frederic Sevcik, Carlene Garner, Oliver Miner, Robert Fischer, Elyse Whiting. "Can you guys google search and see if there are any connections between those people? Their initials aren't spelling out anything." He also wrote: Nikolai Czesak, Allan Hoag, Christopher Pinney, Ichiro Saito and Klaus Mackintosh. "These initials mean nothing either. No matter which order they're in…" Arthur's normally neat handwriting was reduced to chicken scratch while he hurriedly rearranged letters on top of each other. Time was running out. It was like leaving someone in a dream and waiting for them to wake from limbo. Every moment counted because an eternity of horrible could happen in sixty seconds.

"How about this: Eames looks up the Marks for consistencies and Yusuf looks up the Clients." Eames saluted and Yusuf gave a thumbs up before submerging into their computer screens.

Arthur briefly looked up at the television and saw the headline, "Company Attacked for Eighth Time by Anarchists." His hand snatched the remote off the end table and turned it up. Everyone looked at him confused. "And this is the damage caused by the individuals…" The camera showed the building half caved in on itself. Black and still smoking from the recently watered down fire. "Tell us Kathryn, this isn't the first time Gatu-Geaux Oils has been attacked, am I right?"

"Gatu-Geaux…" Why did that sound familiar? Gatu. Geaux. '_I've got to. Go.' _Got to. Go….She must have repeated that phrase over and over. But she wasn't saying she had to go, she was saying the name of the company: Gatu-Geaux…_"_that's it! She was telling me over and over! It has to do with this Company…this was done by the Hoods." He turned the tv up louder and the news lady recited, "You're absolutely right, Bob. What many people don't know is that Gatu-Geaux is an oil drilling chain that sells to the big wig gas companies not only in America but all over. They're kind of the unsung heroes in our fuel economy, the middle man you might say. But they've been getting backlash in several of their establishments the globe over in the past year and a half since their company's involvement in the Mississippi River Leak. In the past six months alone their first, second, fourth, sixth and seventh branches have been targeted." Eames shouted, "Those are the numbers!"

Yusuf had already looked the Company up and found where each branch was located and wrote them down in the order they were established in a column, then he rearranged them per Ariadne's request. "Arthur…I certainly hope this isn't coincidence…" The Point turned from the tv and looked at the notebook held out in front of him:

**M**adrid, Spain.**  
A**msterdam, Netherlands.**  
I**ndianapolis, Indiana, USA. **  
N**ew York, NY, USA**  
E**dinburgh, UK.

"Maine? She's in Maine?" Arthur had trouble believing it. "The zip codes seemed more probable. This seems far-fetched."

Yusuf swiveled his computer to face the rest of the group and scrolled down to the lists of Company Locations, "There isn't a GG Oils establishment in Maine so it's not a hint about the next one to be attacked."

Cobb scratched his head, focusing on the ticker across the bottom of the tv screen. "It seems right, Art. You said—phonetically the name matches the phrase she repeated, the numbers match, when we arrange them in the order she requested it makes sense…"

"Well where in Maine?" Eames complained, then directed his next comment to the absent girl, "I love you darling but that doesn't help us at all…"

Arthur pulled up flights again, "It's close enough for now. The capitol should be a good place to start." The other men pulled it up on their computers to follow.

Xxxxxx

The team of men opted on splitting the largest suite they could find. Eames and Yusuf had to share a room with double beds, Arthur got the other bedroom and Cobb was left with the pull out couch. Using the Yellow Pages they were able to break each county down into numbered sections and looked for any name or string of numbers with a correlation. There were a few house addresses that matched, some phone numbers, all which they called and all which they drove to to investigate. Everything was turning up to be coincidence. There was no reduction in the amount of possibilities. No narrowing of the list. Ariadne could be hidden right under their noses in the capitol or out in plain sight on the coast and they wouldn't be the wiser. In fact, they were starting to wonder if they had even been correct in assuming she was in Maine. Maybe the men were in the wrong state or wrong country all together. Following a lengthy day in Westbrook, hunting down a name that looked eerily like an alias Ariadne could use and coming up dry, The Point came back discouraged. His briefcase was tossed to the floor at the doorway and his jacket was off and tie loosened before he plopped onto the couch.

They'd picked up a bucket of chicken and sides on the way back. Yusuf and Eames were starving by the time they got to the hotel. They rushed to heat the food up in the microwave. Arthur was rubbing his face in his hands when Cobb brought him a plate. "I'm not hungry."

Dom took a deep breath. He knew how stressed Arthur was getting. He could always tell…Arthur was normally a very healthy eater. Salads, meat and potatoes, never skipped a meal. He ate heartily and made room for his portion of vegetables. When he got stressed he ate nothing. "You gotta get something in you. You know you don't think straight when you're starving."

"I told you I'm not hungry. I'll eat a bar later." Foregoing a pause, he reached for the phonebook and picked up where they left off this morning, scanning through the T's. Cobb watched Arthur's finger trail down the page, his eyes flicker back and forth, the grit in his jaw when he turned the page. The Extractor tried his best to uplift his friend's mood, "Don't worry. We'll find her, Arthur."

It wasn't amusing when he snorted, "Oh, I know we will…locating people like needles in a haystack is what I do. I'll find her or kill myself trying." Arthur highlighted the name he was on and then allowed his attention to linger on the conversation, "I'm just worried about _how _we find her. Or if we'll find her in time."

"It's only been three days—"

"Exactly. Three days. That's 72 hours. You remember that job in Beirut. It took 64 hours for someone to crack us out of there…and those guys did a world of torment to us in that time."

Cobb's face soured at the memory. It was six years ago. Their Chemist didn't go into the field with them and a forger wasn't needed so it was Arthur, Dom and a fellow named Cam as the Architect. The job went South when the projections swarmed and the Mark ended up waking before they did. Somehow Cam had woken, escaped and abandoned the pair of them on a train leading to Beirut. Being Americans, they were given special attention when tortured. They were given water but no bread. Cobb had been whipped but Arthur had been water boarded. Needless to say, they looked worse for wear when their architect ended up returning with reinforcements to break them out. "You don't understand the guilt I feel over this," admitted Arthur, pulling Cobb out of his less then savory reverie. Dom didn't use sarcasm often but there was need here, "Oh, I don't?"

The Point shrugged, halfway taking it back, "It's different. If I hadn't left—"

"She would've gone anyway." The older man pointed out.

"Yeah but—I could've gone with her. I could've shot that man in the balls the second I saw him look at her. I would've gotten her out by now."

There was no point in dwelling on what was already done. The milk was spilled. They could mourn it and think of all the ways they couldn't prevented it or they could clean it up. So Cobb tried expressing this, "Should've, would've, could've. None of that helps. What's done is done. I'm sure she's fine. We'll find her when we find her."

It hit a wrong nerve. Arthur definitely took it in a way Cobb didn't mean. He thumped the phonebook closed, "Would you stop minimizing this? Quit trying to make this a lesser deal than it is. This is important. _She is important to me_."

"She's important to all—"

The Point's voice raised so suddenly and drastically that Yusuf and Eames' own conversation was interrupted in favor of listening in on the ruckus, "You know if this was your _precious Mal—"_

"—Hey! Now—"

"-then I bet you'd be acting the same way. If it were the woman _you _were in love with then this would be a different story-you'd be off the wall! It wouldn't be all ho-hum, 'she'll turn up eventually, let's order pizza' would it?" He knew. The Extractor knew this was the pressure and the anxiety talking. But it still made him angry because he was trying to help. Cobb swallowed down the agitation and calmly requested Arthur's listening ear, "Arthur—"

"I dealt with _your_ should've, could've, would've's for over a year. I was there for _you_, Cobb. I helped in every way I knew how because I knew you were devastated. I knew how much of you she took with her…maybe Ariadne and I haven't been together as long as you were, maybe she's not my wife, maybe we don't have children, maybe we're not even together anymore but she's _my _Mal. And it's like she's already jumped out the window and I'm running down flights of stairs trying to find where in the air she is. And I know I'm bound to see her somewhere, I'm just praying it's before she ends up dead on the ground."

Now Cobb's eyes were filled with water. The Point Man _had _been there for Cobb through everything surrounding Mal's death. He put up with a lot of shit during Cobb's grief and guilt. His sympathy overflowed for his best friend more than he realized, "I wasn't trying to make this seem like a minor problem. It came out different than I meant- It was an attempt at making you feel better. You know I'm here for you too. I put my family in a safe house and followed you out here because I owe it you. Because I owe it to Ariadne. I care about the two of you more than it might seem."

Arthur sighed, "I appreciate that but sugarcoating doesn't work for me. Believe me, I've tried. And maybe I can convince myself that she's alright for the moment but when I go to sleep tonight it'll be in a luxurious hotel bed and I'll be safe and warm under the covers. Where will she be? In the dirt? On the concrete floor of a cell? Being—" His head fell back onto the back of the sofa, unable to finish the sentence.

Cobb reached over Arthur and grabbed the phonebook then scooped up one of their notebooks off the table and began more research. Quietly behind them, Yusuf started putting away the leftovers and Eames came to sit in front of the coffee table and pulled up Google Maps on his computer. In a matter of minutes they were all back to work and continued that way into the wee hours of the morning.

The night was one of the longest Dominic had known. Arthur had thanked them and insisted they go to bed and get some sleep when the clock neared 3 am but if not for Ariadne, than for Arthur, they all persisted. It was seven thirty in the morning. Just after the sun peeked out from the horizon. Yusuf had fallen asleep on his keyboard, Eames was on his second (more like eighth) wind as he investigated tirelessly the next set of prospective clues, Arthur was on the phone with one of his contacts (Jeremy Shugart—formerly a CSI agent. A real one, not from the tv show) and Cobb was brewing some coffee for the next round of crashes and calling Miles to check in.

The team's laptops let out a symphony of automatic voices. The abrupt litany of notifications roused Yusuf from his nap. _**"You've got mail. You've got mail. You've-You've-You've got mail. You've got-You've got mail." **_

The Point asked his contact to hold. "Arthur, I have a creeping feeling we shouldn't open these emails…" declared Eames. Quickly, Cobb jumped to tell Miles he'd call back and walked into the living area. Gawking at his computer screen, Yusuf retorted, "I don't think we have a choice." On each of their laptops several posters popped up one after the other. All identical. A plain blank background with bold black capital letters reading: **THE RED COATS ARE COMING. Get out.**

Not fifteen seconds later the ground shook, the windows blew out and a crack ran along the wall and the ceiling. "Get out!" directed Arthur.  
xxxxxx

Uh oh. I'm sensing a confrontation coming on. You guys like having Arthur and the gang back? What do you think the message means? Review, review and I'll try to update tomorrow or Wednesday!

Lots of shit goes down next chappie. Jussayin.


	10. War Time, Baby Mine

Thank you's first! _Lauraa-x: _I've missed the team too. Glad the code wasn't easy to figure out lol. This chappie is cray. Then we'll have one chap back with Ari and then we're back to Arthur so we'll get ample time with the both of them for two looong chapters coming up. Questions will be answered! (so keep asking them) lol. Thanks for reading, hun. _Nina: _Cobb, Eames and Yusuf are indeed aware of what is happening to Ariadne. Arthur has filled them in, they just didn't hear her scared voice on the phone like he had to. Thanks for talkin with me! _Lazarus76: _Well, thank ya buddy.

**Chapter 10: War Time, Baby Mine.**

**THE RED COATS ARE COMING. Get out.**

Not fifteen seconds later the ground shook, the windows blew out and a crack ran along the wall and the ceiling. "Get out!" directed Arthur. The team snatched their laptops, shoved them into their bags, grabbed what weapons they could reach and sprinted into the hallways towards the stairwell. It was times like these that the rest of the team was grateful for Arthur's specificity and strictness. In case of emergency, he insisted they leave their duffels or backpacks by the door and only remove what was currently needed for however long they needed it and then put it back. So they were ready to hop up and fly out on less than a moment's notice. And they all were this time except Eames chastised himself for being too cluttered. He'd had to leave behind two of his favorite printed shirts and quite a large sum of socks which he'd carelessly strewn the room over. Halfway down the hall the rooms aligned on the side of the building with views to the outside broke off. They headed for the stairwell. In good fortune, the hotel not only had stairwells on the sides of the building but an emergency one in the center as well. It already had chunks missing; pieces of the wall and stairs above fell in boulders on each landing. They hopped and dodged over them. The twelfth floor was a ways up from the bottom but luckily short of halfway to the top. Cobb yelled over the sounds of shatters and bangs, "I think someone knows what we're up to."

"Told you they'd find us if they wanted!" Eames shouted over the din as well as finding humor in the irony, "And looks like they _really _wanted to!"

At this point panicked citizens were filing and pushing into the stairway with them. It created more chaos and noise and threatened to separate the team. Some pushy men rammed Arthur into the wall. With a hand on his gun, he gave them a death glare. People elbowed and shimmied in between them. He could see Yusuf's head straining to look over heads and catch one of their eyes. Cobb was pinned against the rail, people moving too fast for him to step into the current. Eames—where was Eames? "Artie!" His gruffness was almost glazed over by other squeals and screeches and giant booms that came with projectile concrete. Nonetheless, the Point followed the voice and bumped people out of his way to the railing to look over. Eames was two landings down. "Get to the bottom and meet in the alley."

"What?"

At the top of his lungs, Arthur repeated, "Get to the bottom and meet in the alley!" Eames nodded and continued maneuvering his way through. The Point also shouted at the top of the Forger's head, "Be careful, the Hoods are out there." Again Eames paused and pulled his gun from his belt. It elicited gasps from the people closest to him to notice but the scrambling figures were really too distraught to care. Eames smirked, "And I will lead them on a merry chase!" Five floors away from the bottom… Arthur shot a cursory look towards Cobb and Yusuf and then hopped over the rail. When on the next floor it only seemed to get more crowded, he took his handgun and shot up into the air. The mobs recoiled, covered their heads and crouched against the edges. The three men took the stunned stillness as opportunity to forge ahead. The people let the men pass before they filled the stairs again and tried to herd out.

When they finally pulled out of the stairwell they were greeted with a dismal sight. The lobby of the hotel in flames on the opposite side and spreading further in their direction. One side of the building was caved in on itself, the heavy materials once used to keep the frame were now toppled on top of people. The side closest to them was the most intact though the ceiling and the sides were falling. Furniture and luggage raining down, frames creaking, people screaming. They fell into the alley more so than ran there when another explosion ripped through the center and took down the rest of the building with it. Innocents, injured and dead, were strewn through the streets and the alley. But it was quieter…almost eerily so. Instinctively, Yusuf, Arthur and Cobb formed a close knit circle and pulled out their handguns (those of them that didn't already have them drawn). With hurricanes, its always the second side—after the eye and the calm of the storm—that's the most damaging. Behind the dumpster, Eames peeked out and then joined them. "So are we all on the same page in thinking this is the Hoods?" Yusuf asked breathlessly.

Cobb added, "I don't think its coincidence. And it's too attention grabbing for Cobol."

"I thought Saito fixed that."

"For me. Not for you…" Cobb replied to Arthur and the Point shrugged. His mind was too preoccupied on surveying their surroundings. "We normally wouldn't go out in the open…we'd want to avoid crowds, potential authorities. We'd run deeper into the alleys." Arthur's head turned and his eyes slid to the side to peer deeper into crevice of the two buildings. Cobb caught his drift, "Always hide where your prey will seek refuge."

Arthur's head bobbed up and down, "Head to the front. Get lost in the crowd."

Their huddle dropped their bags behind the dumpster. Well—Yusuf's had been lost in the chaos. Cobb's bag's side was ripped open and he'd had to hold it together to keep what little he still had in it. Eames used his to bump people so he was fine and Arthur had left his duffel in the stairway after he determined it'd slow him down and only carried his satchel (which held all the important things like electronics, notes, fake passports/ids, etc). They could always double back around when/if the coast was clear. They opened up and emerged into the pools of people freaking out but sporadically so they wouldn't appear to know one another. Flustered voices complained that their cell phones wouldn't work. Several people were hunched over and tending to the wounded. The men didn't let any of it fool them. They scanned the crowd for anyone off, anyone who seemed displaced—a Hood could be standing beside them or feigning a cry over a dead body in front of them. A young man was frantically moving through the cliques begging for information on his loved one. "Have you seen my girlfriend?" He tugged at a woman's arm, "Have you seen my girlfriend?" Then to the air, "Has anyone seen my girlfriend?" Desperately he grabbed onto Arthur's shoulders, "Excuse me, sir, have you seen my girlfriend?"

Cobb looked pass a few people over to his right diagonal and found Arthur being hassled by a victim. The Point waved him off, "Sorry. No." The boy, no older than twenty, dressed in ripped up jeans, black converses and a black hoodie with a smiley face printed across the front. Cobb squinted, the boys fingernails were painted black…and his attention seemed solely focused on Arthur. He wasn't continuing to look around at the tops of heads for his allegedly missing loved one. A distraction? With another swift look at the people around himself first, he studied everyone near Arthur. Nothing else was out of the ordinary; no other figure seemed interested in them. The Extractor then caught Eames' eye. Too direct and pointed. Like he'd been waiting for Cobb to look his way. His head jutted up subtly, gesturing behind him. The blue eyes of the Extractor flitted to the man behind Eames: Also in jeans—not ripped but worn and dirty—and a brown hoodie with holes and a red stripe down the back. He was sitting on the ground near a family mourning and trying to tend to their injured mother/wife. He was positioned close enough to look like the brooding older brother but the devil was in the details. He was far enough from what would've been his little sister for Eames and Cobb to recognize a disconnection. He wore the hood over his head and bowed it down to detract attention but his eyes were cut to the side—watching Arthur. "Are you sure?" The desperate one still pulled at Arthur's jacket.

A hand rested on Cobb's shoulder and when he whipped around—it was only Yusuf's face in his. Yusuf gritted between unmoving teeth. "Look over there…" His hand pulled Cobb slightly in the direction he meant. Eames followed Cobb's eye line. Yusuf had looked away and continued to make movement and seem lost. In the crowd several feet in front of Arthur was another young man in a hoodie. Cobb and Eames locked eyes and simultaneously rested their hands on their guns. The more they looked, the more they found men and women in hoodies trying to blend with the crowds.

Arthur backed the man off of him, "Look, I don't know." And squeezed passed some other innocents to put distance between them.

"Have you seen _your_ girlfriend, then?"

Arthur pivoted and stared at the boy hard and charily. He felt other eyes on him too so he allowed them to scan and noticed Eames a few feet behind the man in front of him: his hand on his gun, his face set in urgency. "Or I guess it's your _EX-_girlfriend." The once frazzled victim smirked at the Point Man and pulled his Hood over his head—Yusuf and then Cobb and Eames noticed others scattered through the crowd were doing the same—"Ariadne, is it?"

If that man wanted to live, he really shouldn't have said her name. Arthur had an inkling the man was off but now it was confirmed. Before the smart ass could pull his gun out and cock it, Arthur grabbed his opponent's wrist, twisted him around into a chokehold and pushed his arm against his body until he could feel the shoulder blade crack. The nameless man fell to the ground groaning. He rolled when Arthur made to turn and pulled a gun out of nowhere with his good arm, aiming at the Point. Arthur grabbed his wrist again in time to move it away (sadly the Hood still fired it and the dodge caused it to hit an innocent. Eames felt the man behind him stand up and heard him pull the hammer on the gun behind his head. Swiftly, Eames knocked his arm up, elbowed him in the ribs, blocked two punches with his forearms, flipped the man over onto his back and pointed the Hood's own gun on himself as he pulled the trigger. He looked behind to see four or five making their way up. Two lunged for Cobb (he was closest) who was forced to use his fists after his gun was bumped out of his grip. The Forger shot two using his own gun and met one in the face with the butt of the new one.

Arthur used the Hoods arm to flip him onto his stomach, sat on his legs, used the man's hand to fire at an assailant in front of him then wrenched the gun from his hand to throw it to Cobb. The Point then proceeded to pull back his other arm until both of the Hood's appendages were debilitated. Rolling off of him, another Hood tackled him as he was lying on his back and squeezed their hands around his neck. The Hood brought Arthur's upper back off the ground and then rammed him into the concrete repeatedly. On the fourth, Arthur grabbed onto the Hood's forearms and used his opponent's force to help him kick his leg and roll them both over his shoulder so that he was on top. Arthur punched the man twice and in return got punched himself.

Poor Yusuf was caught without a gun as well. His strategy was to duck and dodge. Here and there he managed to knee his foe in the crotch. Or kick one that wasn't expecting him in the back. He was successful with several punches before he was twisted into a chokehold by one. "Eames!" The Chemist waved. Thankfully, the Forger saw his struggle, shot the man and tossed him the extra gun.

Arthur's assailant went limp. A hole blown through the side of his head. Arthur pushed himself off, briefly catching Yusuf's eye and thanking him. Seeing Yusuf then widen his at a point over Arthur's shoulder, he elbowed back quickly. Quick enough to jab the Hood in the ribs but not quick enough to avoid a bullet grazing his side from the opposite direction. He took notice of where it came from, grabbed the Hood he'd elbowed by the shoulders and twisted him to shield Arthur from the next rain of bullets—which effectively tore into the stomach of the man he was holding. Now Arthur pulled a gun from his belt. A Hood jumped on top of his back and tried to knock him out with a blow of the butt of his gun. The Point-who still had to deflect bullets with the dead Hood he was holding—dropped the dead body, reached back and flipped the new one into place for a couple more bullets, then fired some shots of his own to get rid of the menace. "Arthur!" Cobb called and nodded to a figure standing away from the brawl. He wore the same uniform the rest of them donned for the day. He simply stared at Arthur and waited. So the Point took a deep breath and power walked to the guy. He pushed and shot as he went…

It felt like a western showdown. Time felt like it stood still. The gunshots and the yelling sounded more distant and separate than they really were. Arthur was not afraid, he was livid. He stood close enough that the Hood could reach out and rest his hand on the Point's shoulder if he wanted to. Arthur was an instinctual fighter; an intuitive, precise, focused combatant. He not only struck and evaded with his hands and feet but with his ears, his eyes and his brain. And he did so in what seemed a practiced, perfected, effortless manner-Like his namesake. Whereas the Chemist did his best to tussle, the Extractor brawled like it was a bar fight and the Forger wrangled his opponents like animals in the outback—Arthur rode in like a king of knights and battled. Gallantly. Suddenly the figure spoke, "You might want to brush up a bit…" and then pointed to a miniscule clip on device at the nape of his hood, "We're on camera." Arthur heard the scrape of the Hood's blade opening so he was ready to catch the arm that flew through the air towards his chest with both hands. The adversary used his free fist to chop Arthur at the neck where the pressure point is located. Arthur did fall to his knees but swung his leg around and knocked the Hood's leg out from beneath him. The Point lunged for the other but the Hood rolled and Arthur only caught the ground. They rolled together. The Hood to his side to attempt another thrust of his knife towards Arthur's neck and Arthur to his back to—again—catch it and kick the man in the stomach. They both rolled to get up and swung at each other back and forth, tit for tat, equally as skilled at deflecting. Arthur lifted his gun but the Hood caught the weapon and twisted Arthur around so the Point's back was against his stomach. The knifed hand went to slit Arthur's throat where one would normally go in for a chokehold but Arthur beat his hand there and pushed it down away from the neck. The result was a long slice from below his bottom right rib to below his belly button. He groaned but then threw his head back to butt the other man in the head, chopped the elbow at the same time he threw his forearm the opposite direction and broke the arm holding the knife. Arthur reared back to elbow him in the sternum then kept turning and fired a shot through his chest. As the Hood slumped to the ground, the victor pressed his hand to his shirt and looked at the blood on his hand. Behind him he heard yells of retreat and looked to find several men dead on the ground, innocent hotel guests that survived the crossfire ducking and his team members finishing off their opponents as well. The few Hoods left disappeared into the alley. Then he rolled the man over and leaned down over the small camera. When he was satisfied he walked back towards his team.

**Xxxxxx**

They hotwired a car and hightailed it out of there. They doubled back for their belongings behind the dumpster than drove a few hours. Luckily, they found an apartment building further North and convinced the landlord to let them have one without questions or lease. This was done with several hundred thousand dollars in cash.

They all looked worse for wear. Arthur had a cut lip, flesh grazed off his side, a slice in his stomach, a ripped sleeve, and a split eyebrow. Cobb had the remnants of a bloody nose and a cut lip, a few nicks on his upper left arm, holes in the knees of his pants and a pulled thigh muscle. Yusuf donned a black eye and bloody ear, a slash across his leg above the kneecap, and an arm pulled out of socket. And Eames came away with a busted lip, a bruised jaw, and a bullet wedged in his shoulder. Out of all of them, he got beat up the least. That night, they focused on patching themselves up. Especially the knife wounds and bullet holes. It was all they could do to do that, collect their thoughts and pick a schedule for rotation. One of them needed to be awake in case something happened again so they could have ample time to heed the warning.

The next morning, they endeavored through the pain (they were sort of used to it in this business). Eames dozed while he combed through the internet, "Arthur. Arthur take a look at this," In all of ten seconds, Eames had awakened from his static state. "I found a blog with an article about the Hoods. They hid it pretty well but must've not been able to strip it." The Point was on the phone with one of his contacts. He politely finished up, thanked for the help he would provide and then got down in the floor next to the Forger. Eames read as his index finger underlined the words as emphasis. The text was: 'My cousin was actually down the road from the arson in '10 and got some pictures of them running by…* *, * *. They creepily resemble those shadow things from the first Lord of the Rings, am I right? Anyway…these guys pride themselves on being freegans. They supposedly live off the land, recycle their waste…icky stuff…but they're so fanatic about it that they want to burn down every company that makes it difficult for others—'

"Where is this going, Eames?"

"They're invisible for a reason right? No can find them unless they want to be found. There's no record of them because they don't have a footprint. They—" He pointed to the sentence in the paragraph—"'_live off the land'._ If they're in Maine it's going to be hard to live off the land in the city, even underground. Or on the coast. It's too open nearest the water. We need to find where a ton of un-commercialized land is: Some woods, some forest, farmland, what have you. We need to go _there_ and start poking around. There were some other things but the rest of the page wouldn't load all the way…one clue is better than none though."

Arthur nodded and the clapped his friend (a loosely used term, here) on the back, "I'll regret saying this but you are a genius, Mr. Eames."

The Brit chortled and polished his nails on his shirt. As he began packing up the equipment he corrected, "Well, _some_ credit goes to the bloggers. I must say though UlysS and WD40gurl are lackluster urls for children of today's internet._"  
_xxxxxx

By nine they were packed and in a rental headed further east with three major geographical locations they deemed plausible hiding places. There were more wooded areas closer to Canada. They set up shop in a hotel central to them all. The first was a patch of farmland they hiked out to. Asked some questions from the farmers; the land turned out to be even and you could see for miles so for a hidden organization the use of it would be moot. They made it as far as the second location—undeveloped Forest near the border— before dark when it started pouring rain, thundering and lightning like no one's business. They would have to retire back and search early in the morning much to the group's dismay. Like clockwork, by the time the world switched from pm to am, Arthur was back on his computer looking up plots of privately bought land. Then—

"Shit." He banged the side of the screen, "Damn, computer froze." It could've been possible that he thought shaking his laptop and flicking the edge of the screen would bring it back. Diligently, he rubbed circles on the track pad with his thumb and heaved a sigh when the cursor mocked him by staying stubbornly still. The screen flickered and what looked like a pop up jumped into the middle of his screen. "What the hell?"

Cobb, who'd unwrapped a honeybun from the vending machine outside and joined his friend on the couch, looked over his shoulder, "Virus?"

"No my computer is protected heavily against that." The blue screen of death lit up the interface and endless numbers scrambled across and on top of one another. Then a live stream opened up: the corner decorated with the date and time. It was hard to tell what they were looking at, it was zoomed in so far. But it looked like dark woolen material. The camera focus jumped back and they were able to determine a cloaked figure with its head bowed, even though it was a side view and from what they guessed were the shoulders up. First, a deep, greedy voice starting lulling out of frame, "_Baby mine, don't you cry. Baby mine, dry your eyes. Rest your head close to my heart. __**Never to part, **__Baby of mine."_ Yusuf had gone to change out of his rain soaked clothes and was walking back into the main room as he noticed the intent, befuddled stares of his colleagues. Carefully and quietly he tip toed to look over the back of the couch. He didn't want to disturb their train of thought because he guessed they were reading an article or something. Except when he glanced over the figure had taken a shaky breath. "What did you fi—" The two men each lifted a hand and shushed the Chemist. It was suspenseful: the still video of a Hood, waiting for something to happen, wondering if they wanted to see it if it did. Again the voice sung, "_If they knew all about you, they'd end up loving you too. All those same people who scold you…"_ It got grittier yet boastful, "_what they'd give just for __**the**__**right **__to hold you…" _Small, dirty, white hands came up and covered the cloaked figure's head.

The same voice returned except a domineering growl sounded, "Look at the camera." In response, the material of the Hood wrinkled and rustled as if the head inside was refusing and shaking their head. "Let them see." Eames was the only one who took Arthur's suggestion about a nap. Changed into his worn sweatpants and riddled with exhaustion, he let his body sink into the bed. Each muscle relaxed from the feet up and sank him into much needed rest. "Eames…You may—I think the Hoods-" Yusuf's voice called wearily, the tone took on the uneasiness he felt staring at the screen. It alarmed him to the point of thinking a group of hooded beings were holding his team gunpoint. He rolled out of bed, cocked his gun and creaked open the door: There only proved to be Yusuf and Cobb huddled over the device in Arthur's lap, all with perturbed expressions on their visage. They didn't acknowledge his entrance and ignored him his entire saunter to see what had them mesmerized. In one word, he understood.

"Ariadne." Demanded the ominous presence. The Point practically jumped out of his seat and started pressing keys to zoom, to connect, he didn't know…but she was right there and he should do something. The keyboard and mouse were still locked up, however. "Don't make me tell you again. Let them see you."

Her head didn't raise but turned. The team leaned in, peering. The fabric folded and curved so that only one brown eye—watery, bloodshot and green with a fresh bruise blinked at the camera. The video went through a series of shaky cuts. One up at the ceiling, one of a tiny fist hitting something, a hulking hand twisting and wrenching a smaller and paler wrist, the ground, deep red wool and the blade of a knife all to the soundtrack of Ariadne's 'no's, stop's, please's and unintelligible sounds of fear. The frame steadied on her hand spread out and flexed, attempting to curl into a fist while metal sliced across it. Despite being muffled like his paw was clapped over her mouth, her voice rasped, groaned and whimpered. Similar to the pattern of static or a buffering download were the next series of frames. That same large hand covering hers and dragging it along the wall, blood smeared behind it, his sleeved hand on her mouth, his mouth on her ear, dark tendrils of hair fisted in his hand. They played in a loop, getting faster and faster. Arthur's knuckles were white as they gripped the sides of the screen and got whiter with each "Get off of me" choked out of the Architect in the background. Her tormentor never acknowledged her pleads…the voice the team decided they hated chuckled back at her and crooned, "_From your head down to your toes, you're not much, goodness knows. But you're __**so precious to me**__. Sweet as can be. __**Baby of Mine.**_"

Then it all stopped and she was sitting alone against a dirtied concrete looking wall, knees in her chest, her cowl covering her legs so that only dirtied feet poked out. She sat slumped, facing them and tugged her hood over her eyes, the wool stained with her wounded palm. The camera zoomed out and her smeared handprints painted the wall above her head. Drips of blood inched down slowly here and there. The message the camera man/faceless voice was trying to get across was unmistakable. For written in Ariadne's life liquid was:_** They Are Mine. **_The screen went black and a box informing him of a file dump lit up. Arthur was quick to turn the computer over, take off the back and pull the battery out so the computer would shut off before they could delete all his files. The rest of them stared shell shocked into the space where the screen had been, no doubt each mind raced. Eames deadpanned, "That was one hell of a greeting card…" Acting indifferent (even as Cobb could see his hands shaking), Arthur advised the rest of them pull up their computers so he could cloak their IP addresses and make sure an effort to dump their devices was prevented. They found themselves paralyzed in their positions, dumbly gaping at Arthur. "What are you standing around for? We need to secure our research." Yusuf opened and closed his mouth like he was going to speak, Cobb shook his head still in disbelief of her conditions, Eames was the lone man to follow the orders and help the Point with the computers but he had a far off gaze as he obeyed. How was this not affecting Arthur? How was he not breaking dishes, or shouting, or shooting people? That's precisely how Eames expected him to react. How all of them expected him to react. Half the reason they were hesitant to make too much movement was in case he should consider them moving targets. The Englishman's face contorted as he watched Arthur's lenient attitude and exchanged apprehensive looks with the other two observers. He may not care to admit it but Eames knew Arthur was sharp minded. He was certain the Point had read the same words on the wall the rest of them did. And with the hints that their girl had been raped—the words _baby of mine_ were adequately pointed. The devils had impregnated her and if it made The Forger's insides boil and itch to skin them all alive than he was sure Arthur had already pictured their heads on stakes.

After his fingers flitted over the different keyboards and a 'pending' download bar showed up on each, he stood and traipsed over to the kitchen coolly. His face was completely devoid of any unease or distress. But Arthur _was _in denial. The images he'd just witnessed looked straight out of a horror movie. It was scripted, directed and edited he was sure. It was one of those youtube prank videos. It wasn't Ari…it couldn't be. So why were those caramel colored eyes so familiar? That voice—he knew that voice. He got a glass out of the cupboard and filled it with water routinely. Cobb sensed something way off in Arthur's non-chalance; he rose from the couch and cautiously followed Arthur into the kitchen. They all felt it. That feeling when you're watching a thriller and you know something is fixing to pop out. You don't know what and you don't know when but you feel it coming so you squeeze your arm chair and wince. Dom watched the Point raise the glass to his mouth from a few paces away.

Arthur swore he knew those eyes…

_Filled with laughter. Crinkling at the corners. Squeezing shut. "Stop tickling me!"  
Droopy. Crusted corners. Prying open. "I hate mornings..."  
Inspired. Ablaze. Wide, envisioning. "What about a hotel for the second level?"  
Narrowing under furrowed eyebrows. Fierce. "I'm not about to let you chain me down for your own ego!"  
Soft. Through eyelashes. "I love you too."_

**He knew those eyes. **He paused once the cup reached his mouth. From there his eyes darted from side to side recalling the video. The blood, the voice, the messages: _**they **__are mine…baby of mine….  
_"They got her pregnant..." and without a single sip, he dropped the glass and let it shatter on the ground.

The Englishman was going back and forth on whether the stop, drop and roll technique would be a smart thing to perform. He also pondered crouching down behind the couch and covering his head with his arms like they suggest you do during tornados because he suspected one would rip through that hotel any second. A hurried peek at Cobb and Yusuf's stationary stances convinced him to forgo the thought. Yusuf winced as Arthur turned towards them. The Point had taken his shoes off when they got in earlier so he was now freely moving on top of broken glass in just socks. Arthur looked at Cobb, "They got Ariadne pregnant." His friend only dared to nod his head and hold his hands out towards Arthur cautiously. Arthur closed his eyes and sucked air in through his nose, "They raped her…"; a shuddering breath released it. Another inhale, "And now," the glass broke more under his weight, "She's pregnant…And I—" His eyes shot open, "—will boil them in their own blood."

Eames swallowed hard, "That sounds gruesome."  
xxxxxx

We're getting closerrrrr. It's fixing to pick up. More. Promise.

What do you think Arthur is actually gonna do to them Hoods?  
**Next chapter**: Who sent the Red Coat warning, Ariadne's secretive obgyn visit, another message from Wolffe to Arthur and-a surprise. (Guesses about the surprise would be fun!)

review prettyplz.


	11. Switch, Ding Dong, Ditch

Buckle up! This ride is _long_!

_**Nina.4444:**_Yay for breaks from studying! Lol. Saying they're very in character is the best compliment ever I think. I hope their reactions near the end of this one are about the same**. **_**Lauraa-x:**_You will find out who died in his chapter. ;) Um you can decide if the surprise is nice or horrible. It's near the end of the chapter but read it all to understand it. Eames is my much needed comedic relief. Can't wait to hear what you think of this long chappie. _**nowarning23: **_Nice to hear from you! Except the fact that you're hooked is a good thing in my book. Ahaha. _**JormunganDStyle: **_Thank you for favoriting both the story and I! I hope to hear something from you one of these days. If not, thanks for reading anyway.

**Chapter 11: Switch. Ding Dong, Ditch.**  
**In the Meantime, Five Days Ago. **

Ariadne was thrust back into the van with no time to right herself before Wolffe had climbed in next to her and told the driver to take off. Before Mila could finish, "So what did the doc—" Bruce through up a hand and shot daggers through his eyes. The beast was incensed. The Architect rolled to her side and allowed herself a satisfied simper; for once, Bruce hadn't gotten his way. Not even by force or death threat. She had. Bumps on the road had forced her body over so that she was lying on her back. Naturally, her hands went to her stomach comfortingly (one just under her chest and the other under her belly button) and soothed circles with her thumb. The simper faded….to dread, to panic, to protectiveness as she looked over the man glaring out the window—she fanned her hands open and covered the expanse of her abdomen. She mentally tried to ease the alarm bolting from her center out to the ending of every nerve—lest the baby sense it and become scared too. Ariadne thought maybe her voice might echo through her body and tell the tiny being everything was going to be ok if she reassured it in her head over and over. As polar opposite as their views were, everything changed when they saw the sonogram. The mothering instinct in Ariadne leapt at the sight of the thing growing in her: Its tiny hands and feet and head. This little life that needed her. This innocent, blameless, life that was blissfully unaware of the world's cruelties and its heartbeat which seemed to plead, "Don't let him hurt another virtuous existence. Please don't let anything happen to me." All other things aside—the baby was half _hers_—and she already loved it.

When Wolffe saw the fetus: he felt no attachment at all. In fact, he wanted it dead. Even more so when he saw the first smile on Ariadne's face in months because of _it._ When the Doctor hadn't the right tools and refused to perform an abortion even if he did, Bruce promised Ariadne he would find a way to kill it once they were back in the Woods. Wolffe thrived on Ariadne being downtrodden and broken and since the child wouldn't be trophy of his conquest as much as it would be a beacon of hope it was only a matter of time before he destroyed it. The Architect figured his rough handling of her was a jumpstart at doing so. She wielded some strength to pull herself upright after Rusty's face looked at her over the back of her seat. Past Mila's concern about the Doctor's verdict (her and the others were told they were bringing Ariadne in to diagnose her suspected mental disorder) and the confusion at how Ariadne had been handled, there was curiosity. A curiosity so superfluous it was edging on suspicion. The least bit of wavering faith in Wolffe and Ariadne might have an ally to help her out of this. Curiosity may have been known for killing the cat but it could save one too._  
_xxxxxx

Mila may not have known Ariadne extremely well but from the girl she interacted with during and closely following the job she gathered that the Architect was strong-willed and defiant. So why was she cowering now? If Wolffe was playing the part of protector and caretaker then how come his patient tensed when she was in close quarters with him? The more she considered it, the more intrigued she became. Throughout the two day drive back to the Woods she monitored the two of them in the back but not so frequently that Wolffe would feel threatened and she feigned no particular interest. She observed several things that creeped her out. For instance, at any given moment, she could look back and the Black Hood's hands would be somewhere on Ariadne and not comfortingly but possessively. Maybe Rusty was more perceptive than the other Hoods because she was a chemist who dabbled in the medical field or because she was a woman but something here was wrong.  
xxxxxx

**4 Days Ago**

Chaos was everywhere when the van of Hoods returned. Mila tried to keep up with Ariadne's whereabouts but was separated from her. Rusty, David and the Browns were ordered to go in through the hatch and Wolffe took Ariadne into the parking cave and supposedly brought her down through the stairwell on the other side. (He did so with impeccable timing because when Mila had reached the bottom, he was waiting for them and with no Architect in sight.) It must've been every Brown and Black Hood in the underground organization gathered in the main arena judging from the size of the crowd. Some of them filled the seats at the panel but wisely kept the head of the table empty and ready for Bruce. The team from the previous attack (the 11 or 12 crammed into the van) were ushered in, applauded and praised. One of the Blacks—female—welcomed them in and commended them for their service to the environment. The tv monitors were all switched over to the national news as another Hood bounded with joy to tell them, "This has been the headline story for two days!"

The screens flickered into focus and the speakers crackled on. Across the bottom ticker read, "Company Attacked for Eighth Time by Anarchists." The breezy ring of the newscaster explained, "And this is the damage caused by the individuals…" The camera showed the building half caved in on itself. Black and still smoking from the recently put out fire. The Hoods cheered for their destruction. "Tell us Kathryn, this isn't the first time Gatu-Geaux Oils has been attacked, am I right?"

The news lady recited, "You're absolutely right, Bob. What many people don't know is that Gatu-Geaux is an oil drilling chain that sells to the big wig gas companies not only in America but all over. They're kind of the unsung heroes in our fuel economy," The arena filled with a chorus of boos and heckling, "the middle man you might say. But they've been getting backlash in several of their establishments the globe over in the past year and a half since their company's involvement in the Mississippi River Leak. In the past six months alone their first, second, fourth, sixth and seventh branches have been targeted."

"Looks like someone isn't thrilled with their contribution to our economy…" The anchor commented, "You know, Kat, I can't help thinking there would be a better way to get the message across without a body count."

"Same here, Brock. So far there has been 206 presumed dead and 33 hospitalized in critical condition." It seemed sadistic to the Chemist when those numbers received thunderous clapping and hollering.  
xxxxxx

Rusty joined Grant in their normal spot in the dining hall for dinner that night. Their corner of the long table was left alone (everyone preferred to sit closest to the food) so it acted as a bubble shielding them from the din of the rest of the hall as much as it could. What noise made it through seemed far away-even the anguished groans coming from the POW cells and Con Dig. They ate in a contented silence. Normally they would find small talk about the day such as the different accounts of Mila's rotational work and whatever tasks the Blacks requested Grant assist with. All news was small. Nothing got more interesting than a clogged waste pipe or beating of a prisoner both of which were the norm but conversation nonetheless. When one of them would have the duty of monitoring the cameras or tvs in the control room they would update the other on whereabouts or changes of their marks. That was where they got the most enjoyment because watching the marks' lives was like watching soap operas or television shows. One would move, one would cut their hair, one would have love troubles, one's company would fold and they'd drink themselves into a stupor. The faction of Browns who'd been a part of the organization longer than the dream division (and the faction brought in six months before them) were not permitted to discuss it but Ariadne and Mila had both been one of those marks they would watch and gossip about. Some of them knew the girls before they'd ever stepped foot into the hatch. Anyways, they'd spent the last week or so on a mission and there was a lack of information unshared by the two. Grant crammed the last of the grilled fish on his plate as the Chemist spoke the words she'd been chewing on through the meal, "In the meetings you have with Wolffe…does he ever mention Red?"

He chomped with his mouth half opened, shook his head and then answered with the food still in his mouth, "We're not allowed to discuss her. He got tired of answering questions about her a month ago. So unless he brings it up it's a taboo topic." The woman drank more of the broth in front of her and hummed. "Last we heard she's staying in the medical boxes. Apparently she went off the wall in the head and started harming herself and I'm assuming that's why we drug her out with us and took her to Dean's brother."

"Yeah Wolffe made that announcement a couple months ago—about the self-abuse and quarantine-she's not in the medical boxes though."

Grant swallowed and crinkled his eyebrows. "I've been in the med boxes for rotation, she's not there." Rusty stated but he insisted, "I'm sure they keep her separate for obvious reasons."

The Chemist took another sip of her broth then set it down and leaned closer towards her friend (if you could call them that) "Separate as in Wolffe's box?" She received narrow eyes but trudged on to convince him, "He sends food to it, sheets, no one is allowed in or out—and he's the only who actually _sees _Red am I correct?"

He shook his head at her. Paranoia washed over his face. Grant took a good hard look at the empty seats surrounding him, at the other Hoods down the table, at the ones picking up their food share, at the entrance to the Con Dig…."We shouldn't be discussing this. Wolffe would have our hides. You know slander isn't tolerated…it diminishes the morale of the brotherhood. "

Mila's ears perked, her eyes held a daring theory in them. Slowly, her head turned to the side and she examined the Brown as if he'd admitted some sort of secret. He swore her next question one of the trick nature, "How is that slander? The fact that he's personally taking care of her? That's commendable." It was a fake approval, fake innocent smile, fake praise. "There shouldn't be anything wrong in deliberating it unless something _is_…wrong." Grant adjusted his Hood, Rusty further persuaded, "It shouldn't give us an odd spooky feeling in our bones to think of her locked away in his quarters. Should it? I mean—Ariadne has always been strong willed, level-headed, independent, comfortable in her own skin. Why would she all of a sudden want to injure herself?"

"Bruce, Liv (the female hooded in Black) and Don (another Black Hood) all clarified that sometimes when one decides to become a permanent member the stress and emotional strain of giving everything up cold turkey can cause psychological problems at first. We all handled it differently. I took it out on POWS, Eve starved herself-"

Rusty scoffed but kept her volume low, "Red never wanted to be a permanent member. She made that well defined. You were there in the plane when Ingams shot Kenji and blackmailed Ariadne into staying." Grant elbowed his plate to the side and grated (more out of nervousness of being caught than out of anger) "We are not talking about this."

"How did she look to you in the van all week? Today even? She's skinny as a rail except for her stomach, which she holds a lot. She gets nauseous easy…I think she's pregnant and if the way Bruce's hands roam all over her nonstop are anything to go by—I think he's the one who got her that way. A couple months ago she came to me and asked to stay in my box because she was _afraid_ of sleeping _alone _in hers—I think Bruce has been keeping her in his box and raping her-"

The man across from her frowned at her from beneath his Hood, "It sounds to me like your conspiring against one of our Founders. You know it is my _duty_ as a second faction Brown to report this to Bruce, don't you?"

"And you know it's your duty as a decent human being to recognize something dishonest and help a person who may need us. Right?" countered Mila, pushing her bowl of cold broth to the side.

Grant snarled, the anger now evident, "Wolffe would never do something like that. It's sick and demented that you're trying to tear apart this brotherhood with vicious accusations." With a huff he stormed off. Little did Mila know, he was scheduled for a meeting with the Blacks and the second and third factions of the Browns.  
xxxxxx

They met in the Dream Division's old workroom. It looked dissimilar to the room he remembered pacing and keeping close eyes on the team in. It had been gutted and (since Bruce's move on Ariadne) the desks and chairs had all been pushed along the long wall. Grant was one of the last Hoods to enter; the other factions were already seated on the floor around the room. About four oil lamps sat in the middle for light as the task lights and lower floor lining lights used for the Dream Division had been taken out to conserve energy until their next use of the room. He'd informed Liv that he needed to speak with Wolffe and she encouraged him to sit with the rest of the group while they waited and told him he'd have to wait until after the meeting. Rusty's unabashed allegations towards Wolffe were all Grant could think of. He looked around at his fellow Hoods, this community he'd grown accustomed to, this brotherhood that he loved and saw a blinding red. How could her mind reach such notions? This was a man he'd worked with for years. A man who'd taken him in at eighteen and showed him how to navigate the resources of the earth, how to appreciate loyalty, how to defy the man. Who'd also…taught him how to load a gun and shoot through the heart with precision, how to build a bomb and crumble empires built on hard work, how to track down and erase a person's existence from record—how to end lives. Corporately, virtually, and physically.

Bruce bound through the door and announced as soon as his feet passed the threshold, "We have a problem. Someone has posed a threat to one of our own and _I. Want. Him. Dead._" The idea of executing someone wasn't a novelty but saying one of them had been personally sought out and jeopardized was. Some sat straighter at this and some removed their hoods. "The Architect in the Dream Division: her Point Man has been rootling around for her and he's in Maine. Landed here just under an hour ago with her team in tow: Mr. Eames, Mr. Yusuf and Mr. Cobb."

"Cobb…" Mac mulled over the name, "He's one of the marks on the monitors. He has kids…we can barter with them."

Wolffe gritted, "We've already looked into that. They thought ahead. The Cobb and Miles family are off the map. I've got Don working on it."

"I want the second faction to congregate here and come up with a course of action. You will have a plan of attack _by morning. _Third faction, I'm sending you out to the different counties. I want a full sweep and report. He will not slip through our fingers." Grant couldn't help but hear the subtle distinction in Bruce's orders. How they were suddenly _I want _instead of _we need._ He was ripped out of those thoughts when he heard himself addressed, "Grant, I want you in the control room. You're the quickest with the technology. Keep your monitors trained on the Point and eradicate any and all information that could be useful to them from the clouds. Mila is on rotation there, she'll aid you." Subserviently and routinely, he nodded back. "This man is dangerous, brothers, and he's detrimental to Red's recovery. He's the one who wanted to keep her from us, who filled her head with negative thoughts about our crusade for the earth. He's controlling. He'll want to keep her vulnerable and debilitated."

Tell someone not to think about something and it'll be impossible for them not to. Plant a seed of doubt and it will grow relentlessly. It was either the leechlike hypothesis of Mila's doing its dirty work in his mind or he really was hearing the secret grin in the founder's mouth with the words _vulnerable _and _debilitated_. "If he thinks he can come in here and claim her for himself than he is in for a rude awakening. She is mine—" Grant detected with horror, the labored turn of Wolffe's voice, his hand tugging on his waistband (subtle and harmless unless you were looking for it) and then his move to cover his lower half with his cloak and folded arms, "—Ours. We need to protect her." Wolffe cleared his throat and the Brown surveyed his companions. They regarded Bruce naïvely. Looked at him as if he was experiencing a heartwarming wave of emotion over their fellow Hood and not a wave of corrupt desire. It disappointed Grant almost as deep as it disgusted him. Bruce was a liar, a rapist and a killer and not only was he getting away with it but he was adored for it. The Brown felt like he was coming out of an immorally induced coma, like he'd been brainwashed. He'd forgotten all about his indignation with the Chemist and his intention to reveal her theories.

The meeting let out and the factions dispersed to carry out their instructions. But before he headed to do his job, he stopped off behind the POW cells and Con Dig in a box where they kept evidence, sentiments and belongings of those they brought in. If questioned about it he could reason that he'd needed Arthur's contact information from Red's phone. That he could use an email from him to track his IP address. If he threw in other computer science jargon they would believe him. For himself, he needed more proof. That proof came from what he could pull from the Architect's phone about what type of person this Point Man was. If he treated her like Wolffe claimed he did; If the Black was speaking the truth or manipulating them. He had a sinking feeling he wouldn't find much incriminating evidence—he'd watched the Point too while Ariadne was under surveillance and then after she was brought in and he rarely displayed the demeanor Bruce had described. If anything he worshipped the ground she walked on. She didn't have a lock on her phone. It was simple to open her contacts and find: ICE Arthur. Grant put her phone on mute after noises exploded from it—texts and missed calls and emails flew in after the device was turned on. He scrolled down through her texts impatiently until Arthur's name appeared. There were texts from several months ago and he read from the bottom, up, starting from the most recent: _You're worrying me. Please drop a line. –A _

_I know you're busy with work…or maybe you don't want to talk to me but I need to know if you're ok. I understand if you don't want to answer my calls or emails but a simple texted yes would suffice. A confirmation of your wellbeing is all I need and I'll leave you be. –A_

_Tried calling both phones and only received voicemail. Hope all is well. When you get a chance, contact me. I've secured a job with our Inception Team and they'd like you to pay a visit. We've already signed an Architect on but if you'd like, two would always make the job move faster. My number for the prepaid phone remains the same. –A_

_Knock them dead at the meeting today, Architect. And take care of yourself, though I know you would do so without my telling you. Again, I'm a call away if you ever need anything. –A _

There was genuine concern and respect in the sentences on the screen. Being vexed and worried about Ariadne's welfare was something several of her friends had been. Grant then browsed through her album…maybe a facial expression or hand placement would say what carefully chosen words could not. There were several pictures of buildings. Corners of them, roofs, close ups of windows, such angles you'd expect to be documented by an Architect. There was a picture of the Point Man in the kitchen; he didn't seem aware of the photo being taken. His frame was relaxed (a way it never looked on the surveillance screens). Another picture was one of the top of his head while he sat at his desk, hunched over the computer. The next was the same, except he'd noticed the camera and was trying to glare at it but the side of his mouth curved up as his hand covered half of his face from view. The next was in the same setting, with the same clothes on but from an angle as if one of them was holding the phone in front. This time they both smiled at the camera. The next (and last one he looked at) was a duplicate aside from the fact that Arthur had turned his head and kissed Red on the cheek with a contented, affectionate smile pulling at him. This man couldn't be looking for Ariadne because he wanted to incur harm on her. It was evident Arthur cherished her and only wanted to make sure she was safe. If that meant digging around and tearing the world apart (something he was more than capable of) to see to it than that's what he would do. That's what he was _doing. _

And Bruce wanted them to kill him for it. Why? To ensure Ariadne stay under his thumb? Grant turned her cell back off and pocketed it.  
xxxxxx

Rusty was flipping through the binder of different feeds to see if she could find what Ariadne's previous team was up to. Last recorded, they had collaborated again for a job in California. The execution wasn't scheduled for another week and yet they'd lost the trail. A hand slapped the edge of the control panel next to her and she recoiled. "Looking for something specific?"

The Chemist held her startled heart at first, then steeled. Two inches taller from her deep breath she bravely addressed the Hood, "I suppose you've been sent to dispose of me?"

Grant deadpanned at the row of screens in front of him, "Actually, I've been sent to do some handiwork in here. Bruce said you were on rotation. You're going to assist me. After all, I did keep my mouth shut." Mila was slightly stunned into silence. He evaluated the space around, the area where passersby could look in on them and pulled his cowl down over his face. The darkness hid the movement of his lips. "I agree with you. Something's wrong here."

Copying his lead, Mila shielded her face as well. The two of them talked with their heads facing down towards the control panel and their hands purposelessly tweaking it. "Red's Point Man is in Maine."

"What?!" She whispered harshly. There was an urge to whip her head up but she abstained.

"Landed in the capitol not too long ago. He's looking for her. And—Wolffe wants him dead."

"Of course he does," chided the woman.

He looked up at the monitors on the wall in time to see a few Browns and Liv passing by. Rusty bit her tongue and adjusted some sliders after Grant's hand flexed to signal others' presence. She presumed the coast was clear once he started the conversation back up, "He's trying to convince the brothers that we're protecting her. But—I don't know…you know when we were over at Gatu and Mac made me make sure the signal jammer was up and the payphones were disconnected so no one could contact the authorities until we were long gone?" He understood her hum as a yes. "The payphone closest to the van was already disconnected from the unit. And the door on my side was already unlocked." _Erratic breathing, flushed cheeks. "You ok, Red? Too much excitement for you, huh?" Rubber band? Shifty eyes. _"I don't think Arthur is magically in Maine. I think—somehow—Ariadne called him that day to get her out of here."

"What do we do?" Mila's mindless labor halted. She chanced a look at him. Grant took the abandoned binder and scanned through the pages. "Well I sure as hell wish _I_ had someone that could get me out of here. But since I don't…I've got to help the person that does. First, we find the Point. It would take him months to comb through all of Maine and with hundreds of Hoods' shotguns aimed at his head he doesn't have that long. We need to forewarn them and find a way to slip them a hint about our location."

"And how do you suggest we herald such an alarm?"

Several tongue clicks later he quipped, "Saddle up your horse…Red's Coats are coming."

"Clever."

xxxxxx

Mila kept watch while Grant did some magic on one of the Hood's computers. He was careful to cover his tracks. Having grown up with a computer engineer as a father and an encoder for a private intelligence firm as an uncle, Grant was at the top of the game. The Hoods had a few hackers on hand but the big stuff was always handled by him. She eyed a Brown strolling through the main area and whispered, "How is this going to work? We can't send them a warning without knowing when they've been found."

"I've got this duty until—Arthur's dead. We've just got to keep enough monitors trained around Maine. The program is ready, I just have to find where they're at, pray they're using the wifi in the hotel and break through their firewalls."

"Oh," she grimaced, "simple."

To the Chemist, it looked like he shut the program down and deleted all the effort they'd just put in. Of course, she knew better. It had to look untouched by other Hood's standards. Before leaving, Grant left her with the instructions: "Get as much of these screens on Maine as possible. I'll go to Wolffe—"

"Excuse me?"

"I'll go to Wolffe," he reiterated, "ask for permission to set up a jammer like I did for Gatu so her team and surrounding victims won't have access to help. That way I buy as many hours as I need on the computer without suspicion and one of the Browns will have to let me know when and where they've found them."

Xxxxxx

**Three Days Ago.**

Technically Mila's shift was over but through persuasion and Grant's acclaim of her help, they were able to take her off rotation and score her the monitoring duty for the length of the operation. It was seven fifteen am when the Black Hood came jogging over and announced, "This is it. We found their aliases and set some charges through the hotel they're in."

Grant and Mila shared a pointed look before he pulled up the computer, "What are the coordinates? I need to connect to the cell towers and wifi routers adjacent to them." His shoulders tensed as Wolffe walked around, threw a scrap of paper with a string of numbers next to the mouse pad and looked over his shoulder at the computer. He couldn't send Red's team a warning with the leader of the attack breathing down his neck; it doesn't need to be mentioned that it was not part of their plan. After some quick thinking, Grant took a marker and wrote the coordinates on his hand before balling the paper and tossing it to Mila. "Find a camera closest to those coordinates and pull it up. There should be some of our men in the main hub. I know Mac was given a micro cam." He smirked at the beast towering behind him, "I'm guessing you'd like to watch your victory firsthand?"

Wolffe removed his hood. His blue eyes sparkled forebodingly and his teeth bared, "I would." Sauntering over to the Chemist and giving Grant a respite to send their alarm he added, "Record Mac's footage. I think my dear little Red would enjoy watching this…" With Wolffe out of his hair, the Brown quickly entered in the coordinates and locked into the hotel's wireless router system. Every few seconds, he looked up at the back of Bruce's head to assure himself. It was deduced that he didn't have enough time to weed the team out of all the hotel's guests so he resolved to send everyone the warning. Bruce had sent Mac into the field with a micro cam on his person which would stream into the Woods so Bruce could have a first-hand look. Rusty had been triumphant in finding all cameras trained near the area and in connecting to Mac's. Grant pressed send as the group of Hoods dispersed and readied to merge with the inevitably frenzied crowds.

"Pressing the button, now." The figure with the camera declared. Simultaneously, a crack ran up the side of the hotel and that section of the building peeled off and collapsed. Glass broke and fell and screams emitted from the building while herds of people ran out like chickens with their heads cut off. A blast of the same nature struck the other side causing the top of the building to corrode and crumble on the lower half. The cameras scanned the crowds. For minutes they saw nothing but slews of people and when there were enough of them filling the parking lot, the Hoods—or the Hoodies in this instance—started mixing themselves into the victims. The rest of it happened so fast: The Point stepped out of the alley, virtually unharmed by the explosion. He walked through the crowd and out of nowhere a fight broke out. Wolffe cussed out all the men Arthur had bested and growled when he sauntered over to tussle with Mac. Things looked up for Bruce and dim for Rusty and Grant when Arthur's stomach was slashed open. But quicker than they could blink—Mac was soon dead on the ground and the camera saw only concrete. Wolffe had a tantrum. Screeching and beating the control panel. Especially when Mac was rolled over and Arthur picked the camera off of him. It was turned and they could see a plethora of dead bodies on the ground, many of them their men. Hoods ran back into the alley and they could pick out three faces they knew from surveillance feeds: Yusuf, Eames and Dom. Roughed up but very much alive. They'd never heard Arthur's voice before. It gave a daunting first impression: "You see them scattering to take refuge in the alley? Running like the cowards you Hoods really are?" Then they were looking at his face and if looks could kill then Grant felt his heart constricting into ash. "Keep sending your best men in myriads. I implore you. Because the fact of the matter is: I _will _get Ariadne away from you. I _will _bury you alive for what you've done. And there's little you can do to stop me." The camera dropped, the frame tilted sideways and then Mac's bloody knife struck the concrete and bent under Arthur's will. Then came the bottom of his shoe.

Then static.

Wolffe stormed off.  
xxxxxx

The Chemist blew air out of her cheeks and plopped down next to Grant, "That was stressful…"

"Tell me about it."

"Only problem is," she stared helplessly at the computer screen, "Now we have no trace of where they've gone. We can't contact them."

Grant squinted, "But they're still looking for us. Maybe a news article could accidentally slip through the filters..."

Rusty shook her head, "No. They're too careful about that. It would have to be something—subjective. Something that wouldn't normally pop up on a search about us. What about a blog? It'd have to be tagged heavily in respect to us for our filters to catch it."

Grant pointed at her and opened up a blogging website, "Shall our blogger be a boy or girl?"

"Girl, duh." He smirked and clicked the male option. "Why do you ask if you already know what you're going to do?"

"Relax. The blog I hack and change around to drop them the link can be a woman's."

"Grant, Rusty." With no fluctuation in her voice whatsoever, The Black Hood stopped at the control panel, "Tearing the clouds apart to find those killers, I trust?" The Chemist sobered up and nodded stiffly as the woman strutted closer. Grant pressed a series of keys then grinned charmingly, "I'll have them in the palm of our hands in no time."

Liv's fingernails were long but naturally so. She didn't clip them. Ever. So they continued to grow long and white and square and sharp. Her favorite form of punishment was using them on people. They dug deep and hard and drew blood effortlessly. Liv valued clawing and slapping and pinching with them to teach her lessons and dole out consequences. So it wasn't out of the ordinary that Mila would tense her muscles and hold her breath while the lady in Black lightly ran three nails down her face as she otherwise ignored her and praised Grant, "Excellent work. Need anything from the dining hall?" He took a second to think about it and then requested broth and bread for himself and his assistant. After Liv traipsed to do his bidding, he simpered at Rusty. A Black Hood was serving them dinner while they helped the enemy.

Simple as pie, he opened a blog as UlysS—a nod to one of America's greatest generals whose last name just happened to be Grant. After he had the initial account running, he logged out and went back into the system as an admin or a mod for the site and edited the info that would show up about his blog. For instance he set it to say it was created in 2009 from the central time zone. He then used the pages that were popular on the "explore" tab and fed their content to his. It soon looked like he'd posted text posts, pictures and re-blogged tons of crap for the past five years. But he also made sure that through the gifs of grumpy cats, pictures of cars and vids of SNL skits that there was also a common thread such as posts about being unhappy with the government and an interest in political science. That way the post he typed and inserted somewhere in the 2011 time frame about the Hoods wouldn't seem random. Once the information was in place, he set to work finding an anarchist-curious webpage where people went and shared thoughts, theories, conspiracies. It was giant discussion and analysis on the anarchist community. Luckily there was a fairly new one with a thread called "The Hoods. Real Collective or Anarchist Scapegoats?" in which several hypotheses were relayed and people shared info they could dig up of them. The reason they hadn't been deleted by the Hoods was because all information seemed irrelevant and skewed. It was based on people's opinions and proclaimed self-experience so none of it was useful to authorities or the like. That and anarchists were on their side; whatever they found or chose to believe just lured new recruits closer to the brotherhood. So it was on one of these sites that Grant subscribed to a membership with the username _WD40gurl (_yes, like the cleaning substance for _rust_)and carefully embedded the link saying it was "proof!" In roughly five and a quarter hours from 2 am…the link had accumulated 124,606 hits. Hopefully one of those was a member of Red's team.  
xxxxxx

The Hoods that had been launched into the field came back defeated that morning at 4:57. More than that, they came back terrified. They had retreated instead of fighting until either the death of Red's pursuers or their own and they knew they would feel the retribution. Grant and Rusty were given a mandatory respite when all Hoods were instructed to report to the Main Arena for the homecoming of two Brown factions. The six or seven left of the Second Faction that'd been sent out were made to sit at the wooden tables. Grant was called to stand by Wolffe and Ingams in Mac's place at the head of the table and Liv and Don stood behind those seated on the sides opposite one another. In sheer contrast to the last repatriation, the arena was silent. No claps on the back or smiles or violent applause. Taciturnity.

Wolffe found himself so enraged his head ached as if it were fixing to pop off. He barked at the brothers in front of him, "By what stretch of the imagination did you all believe you could waltz back into our home with heads held high?" If they weren't too afraid to make a sound surely some would have protested the angle their heads had been. "You were _that _close," His voice and his hand shook while he gestured with his index and thumb, the small space in between, "_THAT CLOSE _to him and you_ let him go._ _All _of them._"_

"But Mac—" It was unwise for one of them to speak unless told to. Bruce cut him off with a sneer, "Mac was terminated. That didn't alter your orders…but you still scattered like cockroaches! You ran like _cowards _and we, Hoods, _ARE. NOT. COWARDS." _Wolffe's shout bounced off every crevice and surface in their underground empire and shot right back at the guilty. "You should've mutilated them or died trying," Wolffe seethed, "your blood is only worth something to this brotherhood when it's mixed with the blood of our enemies. Understood?" The arena remained quiet. The apprehension and the fear of each individual mingled in the air and created friction against another's. Grant's face was hardened and glared unforgivingly at the brotherhood in an exact replica of Bruce's. He met Mila's eyes in the middle but they were cold. Incensed at no reply, Bruce growled, "Understood?!" Then the mass of Hoods repeated obediently and firmly, "Understood."

Don (the bald, thick boned, Black Hood) hollered, "What do we do Hoods?!"

Again, the malleable horde recited the self-written proverb they lived by, "Hold everyone accountable."

The pack of Browns sitting in the panel chairs as if on trial widened their eyes and lifted their eyebrows at this. A few of them swallowed hard when Liv chided, "You didn't think we would make an exception for _you_, I hope. Wolffe?"

"Con Dig." His once oscillating waves of anger fell flat with his monotone. "If you're not plucky enough to fight to the death with your enemies…then maybe you'll feel more comfortable practicing among brothers."

A couple started to protest, one started apologizing profusely, a few began to beg and the rest were stunned silent. (Or shitting themselves.) They still shut up when he held his hand in the air. Like God, Daniel and the lions' mouths but the one shutting them up was nowhere near as virtuous or noble. Wolffe was the complete opposite though his narcissistic ways made him view himself godlike. He then directed Liv, Don, Ingams and another Brown to split the failures of the Second Faction into twos and threes and group by group let them fight until only one of them stood. He reasoned, "I only need three alive with decent survival skills to head out with the next faction." He wanted Grant and Mila back on the monitors but assigned two other hackers to accompany them in tracking Arthur's IP address at least. Then it was ordered that some other Browns set up in the research room to dig up whatever dirt they could find on Ariadne's team to blackmail them. When asked if Wolffe was going to supervise any of this he responded, "I have a lesson of my own to teach."

They saw nothing of the Hood until dinnertime the next day. Grant, Rusty and the two other Browns were rewarded a two hour breather at dinner for finding a connection to Arthur's laptop that morning. Unfortunately (or fortunately—depending on whose perspective you look at) besides finding his server and a way to livestream something of Wolffe's to it (they were not allowed to see) they couldn't unearth where he was getting his signal from, which wifi router he was connected to and so on. More or less, they could toy with him by form of pop ups and such but they couldn't uncover his location because of some sort of cloaker and advanced encoding he was using. An encoding so complex even Grant was unable to crack it. This time not by bias and pretend but because the Point _was _superior to him in that field. They used their appreciated reprieve to get their allotted showers and then have a nice relaxing dinner. They were rewarded with their pick of hot venison sausages and squirrel fillets, the fresh bread normally held for the Black Hoods and a berry salad. So the lot of them ate until their hearts were content, not used to feeling so overly stuffed, and then loitered around. Then—Wolffe in controlled alarm and curiosity sought out Mila at the table. His hand ran down her shoulder and he lowly asked in her ear from behind, "Is there a vaccine for Tetanus in the med box? Little Red cut herself with a dirty knife." She nodded and her eyes cut up at Grant sitting across from her. "It's been a day; is that too late?"

She whispered back (head turned slightly. She talked to Wolffe but stared at Grant, wordlessly telling him to listen, "Usually tetanus symptoms aren't caught until the third day and people who aren't treated until then do fine."

Her partner in crime gritted and looked down at his food. He simulated ignorance to Wolffe's machinations as well as the rest of them trying to tune out his conversation. Grant heard the demand, "Get it and get to my box, now." Then, "Grant." The Brown was in the process of shoving more wild berries into his stomach but looked up and dreaded the task he was fixing to receive. "Come with me. We're finding that Point Man." Grant pushed his food away and got up to walk around to the villain. Wolffe acknowledged the other Browns with a nod and 'Brothers…' and then practically pushed Grant back to the control room. "You're not sleeping until Point Man rests in peace."

xxxxxx

Her eyes felt heavy. After they cracked and she saw a sliver of the world around her, no matter how hard she tried to pry they wouldn't open the rest of the way; but following some lolls of the head, incoherent groaning and consciousness regaining—Ariadne understood that the reason for her limited eye mobility was that they'd swollen. The intense throbbing pain on the left eye reminded her that Wolffe had favored that side and it was most likely the one blackened. When the bells in her ears ended their symphony and her heartbeat jumped to her eardrums less enthusiastically, the Architect heard the sounds of someone wading in water and then trickling. Then wetness and cloth covered her face and by animalistic instinct she starting combatting the source expecting she was about to be smothered or water boarded. Ariadne felt with her palms and heard with her ears flesh being slapped and she could see a blurry olive skinned arm retract (taking the rag with it.) "Shhh, shhh…" Soothing and maternal. The Architect fleetingly wondered and hoped it was her mother. Her right eyelid (the one that wasn't black) folded uncomfortably atop itself so her vision range and clarity improved. Ariadne saw a face she hadn't seen in what felt like a century. "I'm not going to hurt you, Red, I'm just cleaning the blood off."

Ariadne eased and let Mila dab around her face and neck. It wasn't uncommon for her entire body to be sore but it felt like the knots in her back had gotten bigger. She remembered the deep slash in her palm and did her best to elevate her arm to see it. It was covered with a fresh bandage and probably either clotted or scabbed over because it didn't throb anymore. But something else did…and it grew stronger with each passing second. Ariadne's stomach contracted, and her legs snapped together and pulled to her chest. Mila advised over Ariadne's grunts and screeches, "No…don't move your legs too much or you'll start bleeding again—"

"Bleeding?" Ariadne croaked in a panic, "Bleeding from where?!" She pushed to sit up and see her stomach and legs. Her Chemist friend held her down, "Stop. You might make it worse." Ariadne's eyes looked past Mila and darted around the room. On the floor by the entrance were bloodstained sheets. On the desk across from her an empty bottle of sedative, another vial she didn't recognize, several medical looking instruments and a coat hanger…all blood crusted. She was certain they had something to do with the pain between her legs. The Architect yanked at the sheet covering her only to reveal a fresh patch of blood under her seat and seeping through her underwear and—bandage? Her hand flew to her mouth and smothered a sob, "What did you do to me?!"

Rusty dropped the rag back in the bucket and tried to keep Ariadne's restless limbs still, "I didn't. I'm only here to clean you up and," With force, she pressed Ariadne's shoulders to lay her back down, "make sure you're gonna be ok." That's when the puzzle pieces came out of the woodworks and started fitting together for the Architect. Images from earlier—the camera, the knife, her hands smearing against the wall…then the beating and then…then being strapped down, screaming, crying, begging. Then incredible pain. Then having a fit, then the sedative, more insurmountable hurt but fading into blackness and then finally nothing. Wolffe had come in hell bent on making the point that she was an object and she belonged to him. He set up a camera and put her through this twisted torture that he said he was going to send to the team. It humiliated her more than it hurt. After he'd had his laugh about that, he revealed a collection of intimidating medical tools and a wire hanger he started bending and twisting. _"I'll get rid of that creature if I have to scrape it out with this…"_

"No!" Ariadne howled. She ignored the pain and fished under the edge of the mattress for something. As soon as she latched on to the golden knob atop her chess piece, it slipped from her hands to the ground. The Chemist went to pick it up for her but was startled when Ariadne slapped her back, "Don't touch it!" Ariadne all but tumbled to the ground maniacally staring at her totem, grasping for it, frantically setting it up and tipping it over. It fell as it should. No, she tried again. It fell as it should. As Mila, wrestled her back onto the bed, The Architect chucked her good for nothing bishop across the room. "Red, stop! You're going to bleed out again, settle down."

"Where's my baby?" And it was confirmed. What Mila had suspected and been afraid of came straight from the horse's mouth. Ariadne had been impregnated. What was worse was that with the knowledge that Ariadne was expecting was the last piece of evidence in the bloody scene she stepped into. It was clear why the instruments were there and crusted, it was clear what was attempted, it was clear by the devastation on the Architect's face that she had not done this to herself. She had not been harming herself all this time. Rusty had never been more convinced that the actions she and Grant had taken were justly and necessarily done. It could be true that Wolffe had already disposed of the fetus but seeing more of the amniotic fluid seeping out with the blood, the Chemist believed Ariadne hadn't passed the body as of yet. "It hasn't…It hasn't come out yet."

"But it's dead?"

Mila _could_ explain that with water broken, there was a lack of nourishment and protection for the baby. That with so much internal bleeding the baby had most likely suffocated. But the medical details only made it sound worse so she settled for, "…yes, Ariadne. It's dead."

Tears sprung from her eyes but she was soundless, motionless. She laid back on the mattress and stared at the ceiling as if made of Novocain. Mila cautiously resumed her gentle treatment of the Architect. Her bandage on her lower half needed to be adjusted. As a woman herself, the Black Hood's deeds made her toes curl and her insides drip with not only sympathy but resentment. He'd marred Ariadne in more ways than one for his own revolting pleasure. The condition Red was in now compared to the condition she'd stepped into this world in—bright eyed, bushy tailed, curious about the mind and thirsty for adventure—Mila had already treated her with a cautionary shot for tetanus because of the nasty, infected looking slice in her palm, she'd cleaned crusted blood from her nose, given her something for the swelling in her cheeks and jaw, cleaned up the mess down there as best she could and that was only Ariadne's freshest wounds. She was sure these were not the only injuries, sores and lesions she'd accumulated. Bruce had had her at his whim for months—Mila scolded herself for being blind to it in the early stages. She couldn't help but feel partly responsible. The Architect had trusted her and came to her for help before it had gotten to this point and she'd brushed her off and thrown her to the wolves. Not so figuratively speaking. Especially when the U-Key Card put her life on the line. Even if she'd seen Red again after that or Red had come back to her for help, she knew her mindset during that period was angry, reproachful. Mila wouldn't have listened to any plea Red would have made because she wasn't about to put her head on the chopping block again. Until now. When the Chemist was done with the bandage, she pulled the sheet back up to Ariadne's chin and started over with the wet rag to sooth her aching eyes with. It'd been a ringing silence but Ariadne whispered, "It's so dark down here." Mila didn't know how to respond. Should she agree? Should she come up with a comment to make it seem better?

The words of the Architect filled the room again, "It's dark everywhere, all the time. There's no sunlight. There's no morning. There's no sunrise and sunset. It swallows up candlelight…the glow of the oil lamps…it's just darkness. And it lays on top of you and it gets heavier by the second. There's no comfort in not having to see what's happening—Arthur told me never to watch—but then all you can do is feel. And all I can feel is darkness oozing into me from all sides. And I've had to feel so much that I don't feel anything at all. I'm cold, dulled, blurred."

The Chemist was stilled; Held immobile by the prose that fell from the Architect's lips and stained her guilt-filled, sorrowful core. "I don't remember what it felt like to walk the streets of Paris. I don't remember what it felt like to curl up in bed in clean, cozy pjs and_ just_ _sleep_ the whole night. I don't remember what it feels like…not being sore, not being bruised, being in control of my own body. I'm being deadened in this darkness…" Ariadne's hand shook as a tear ran down her cheek and she felt her stomach…"And that baby was going to be my source of light."

"I'm sorry…I'm sorry, Red…" Mila didn't know what else to say. What could she have said? No amount of optimistic phrases could lighten the prospect. Except, "Your Point Man's coming for you."

Red's head moved back and forth on the pillow, "No. No, he's not."

"Yes he is. Red, he's in _Maine_. He's here and he's coming for you."

"He's coming for Ariadne," She pulled the rag weakly from her eyes and gave Mila a rueful, acceptant smile, "And she died a long time ago."

"Aria—"

"He's not going to want the person he finds. Or the shell of a person, I should say."

The Chemist proceeded to argue with her, "Yes he will. Grant and I are going to help you. We're going to get you to Arthur and—"

"I just assume you kill me. If you really want to help."

There was a hopelessness and a helplessness in Ariadne's brown eyes that could not be cured. If there was anything reaching out at Rusty in Red's demeanor it was pleading. But she wasn't serious in her request was she? She denied she ever heard it, "You don't really want that. You're not yourself."

Ariadne used all the vigor she could muster to pull herself so that she laid on her side at the edge of the bed facing her former teammate. "And I'll never be me again. I can't ever escape from what you've all done to me because I can't escape from myself. Put me out of my misery, _please…_kill me."

There was beeping and hooting. No communication between the two women needed to ascertain who was at the door. They rapidly silenced, Ariadne returned to a sprawled out position and pretended to be out while Rusty replaced the rag on her eyes and took to wringing out another bloody rag into the bucket. Wolffe stepped in warily. It was a risky situation, leaving his toy alone with someone else. He inquired, "How's my Little Red fairing?"

"Still conked out…" Mila turned to him wearing a frown (and detected a thankful sigh), "What on earth did she do to herself?"

"Beats me. I found her like this after our big meeting for the second faction." He feigned concern immaculately. Even took the effort to sit on the edge of her bed and rub her feet, "It's getting worse." After his display of fabricated affection and caretaking, he dismissed the Chemist with little thanks.  
xxxxxx

Mila sought Grant out. He was still slaving tirelessly for Wolffe to obtain Arthur's location. What drained him most was the stress of skirting around it while Bruce's ominous presence watched him like a hawk. She went around and leaned over his shoulder to speak as quietly as possible. The two other Brown hackers were not involved during this shift but there were other Browns perusing the main arena who could stop in at any given second. He spoke first, "How was she?"

"Worse than we could've imagined.

"I don't know what else we can do…Wolffe has us on short leashes. He's got her under lock and key…she's not getting out. We're working on the impossible here. The only way he'll let her out of his grasp is if she's dead." The way she looked at him wasn't heartening…in fact it scared him. "You're not thinking—that defeats the whole purpose of helping her. That makes all of this drudgery of keeping her Point Man in the know and alive all _for nothing. _We'll be no better than the rest of them."

She reasoned and for the life of him he couldn't hear her words seriously only fanatically, "She asked me to. She doesn't want to live like this anymore."

"Yes, _like this_. That's why we've been fighting so hard and risking our own necks to _get her out."_

Mila groaned, "You said yourself this was a lost cause."

Grant practically slammed his fingers against the next few keys and then harshly whispered to her, "I'm not going to be responsible for what you think is a _mercy_ killing. Those two words shouldn't be used in the same sentence. Ariadne trusts us."

"Which is why it should be easy."

**Xxxxxx**

**Present Day: Arthur and the Gang.**

There was a knock on the door. Grabbing his gun, Eames cautiously checked the peephole and found no one there. What he did find a few moments later when the hallway seemed clear and he opened the door was a manila envelope with sharpie scrawled on the back: "**Look what you've done**." Now, on the norm Eames was nosy but he dared not touch it until the rest of them came back. That proved to drag on and on when Eames was chomping at the bit to know what it was. It had to be from the Hoods.

He pushed it into Arthur's hands as soon as they traipsed in. Arthur first shook the envelope…it was light, sounded like more paper inside. Not much of it. He put on a medical mask in case there was harmful power inside when he opened it and then stood in front of the desk and carefully pulled out a note from which several pictures fell. All clear, he removed his mask. At first he didn't look at them, he unfolded the yellowed paper and read, "It's too bad you wouldn't leave well enough alone…I loved her. And I would've loved the baby too. Now neither one of us can have her...the coyotes will get to her ditch before you can." The Point's eyes darted to the pictures. Dull brown eyes, matted brown curls, bruised pale skin and lithe limbs mangled in a heap. They were pictures of Ariadne, without a breath of life, lying on dirt floor. Her shirt dirtied, the bottom of her shirt (his red striped shirt) and underwear stained with blood. Her mouth was crusted over with foam and her nostrils crusted over with blood. "Dear God, no…" Cobb had looked over his shoulder just as Arthur's knees went weak and he caught himself on the desk. Eames and Yusuf both walked up to see what was revealed; The forger covered his mouth and cussed and Yusuf tried to be optimistic for the Point because he absolutely didn't believe what he saw, "Maybe these are photoshopped…"

"You can't photoshop Polaroids," Arthur snarled back at him. Cobb rubbed his forehead and tried to calm him too, "Well maybe they staged the pictures. They made her do that so they could con us into leaving."

The picture that was a close up of her face was snatched up and shoved in front of their faces, "Do you see spark in those eyes?! Do you see life and color in them?! Because I don't!" Dom was at a loss for words. His mouth open and closed several times but he could see Arthur was right. Her eyes did look unseeing. "That _bastard _got her pregnant and then killed her! He killed—" With another look at her pitiful discarded body, Arthur swiped his arm across the counter and knocked everything off. He gaited past the three of them to the living room and flipped the coffee table and everything on it. He picked up the PASIV and slung it like a Frisbee across the room. "Arthur—" started Cobb. The Point whipped around with the telephone book (the one they'd used for research) in his hand, tears in his eyes and hissed, "Arthur, _what?! _Arthur, calm down?! Arthur, be reasonable?!" He threw the book. The three of them stepped further back into the kitchen, eyeing him warily. Dom was trying not to look too affected for Arthur, Yusuf was in shock of it all—of Ariadne's sudden death and of Arthur's behavior—but Eames was already beginning to tear like his colleague. Ariadne was like a sister to him. They were good pals and to see her like she was in the pictures, he was sick to his stomach. Apparently Yusuf was already at that point: Swallowing and squinting. "You _made me wait_!" He grabbed their notebook off the table and started tearing pages out. He flipped the side table (the lamp and books flew off). "And now she's dead. Ariadne's gone," in the middle of the room now, Arthur threw his hands in the air maniacally. "The only good thing I've ever had in my life is _gone, _Cobb! For-fucking-ever!" shouted Arthur, as he ripped off his jacket, crumpled it and threw it at the floor lamp, which fell and busted. They stared blankly at him and only flinched when he let out a guttural groan and kicked the couch hard enough that it flipped.

Dom hadn't seen this behavior from Arthur in years but he _had_ seen it before. Once. Back when they were first training under Miles. It was their second job together and due to lack of experience and practice on Arthur's part, the job had gone under and they were chased through the streets of Prague by the Mark and his bodyguards. Arthur and Cobb had escaped by the skin of their teeth but their architect hadn't been as lucky. His name isn't important now but he had been brought into the dreamshare program with Arthur in ROTC during college and they'd become close friends. The young Point Man blamed solely himself for the death and caused a scene (very much like but not entirely the scale of the one he was in middle of throwing) when they made it safely back to LA. From that point on, Arthur would not accept failure. And he never saw anger or emotion like that in Arthur's eyes since Miles had told him to calm down and keep his personal feelings out of the business. To see that part of this man resurface was like taking a time machine back nine years and reliving nineteen year old Arthur's anxieties. He was like his younger brother again instead of his business partner, his best friend, his confidante, his equal. Arthur was again a young man, inexperienced in this aspect of life that needed Dominic's guidance. That much was clear when Arthur stomped over to the kitchen and crouched to the floor to grab and rip up the Polaroids.

He stopped on her headshot and slowed, heaving, apologizing to the eyes on the paper. His knees pulled into his chest and Cobb took the opportunity to slide down the counter next to him. The Forger and the Chemist tiptoed around them and to the living room. They felt useless so busied themselves by righting everything Arthur had flipped or cleaning up what he'd damaged. Solemnly, Yusuf found a broom and dustpan and swept up the shattered bulbs from the lamp as he overheard the hushed conversation between the Extractor and the Point.

"I don't know how to take this, Dom. How do I handle this? She's my everything. I've lost _everything_." Yusuf looked up and found himself meeting Cobb's eyes sympathetically and then saw Arthur running his hands through his hair, pulling apart the crusted gel. For the first time, Yusuf heard breathiness in the Point Man's voice. He'd never witnessed the display of any emotion from the man before this and realized he'd rather the vacant coldness on Arthur's face than desolation. The Chemist had always seen Arthur as someone his age, maybe even older than him sometimes from the dignified way he carried himself and how he spoke with wisdom and poise. But with a scrunched up face and unruly hair, a loosened tie and bare feet, for the first time Yusuf saw him as a young man instead of an old soul. After all, out of the four men, Arthur was the youngest. Eleven years younger than himself, nine younger than Eames and ten younger than Cobb. He averted his eyes before there was a chance of Arthur looking up and continued to sweep shards. "Trust me; I know how you feel," soothed Cobb.

"She called me for help and I took too long. She waited for me…being beaten, raped, God knows what else…I didn't try hard enough…"

"Yes you did." Yusuf heard a tinkling plastic sound on the tile and looked over his shoulder. Arthur was rolling his die. "I only feel halfway real." He rolled it again before pocketing it. Arthur buried his head in his knees again, "I still loved her. I still loved her and she didn't know."

Cobb rubbed Arthur's back, "Yes she did. Trust me."

"Oh God…why did I leave? Why did I leave her?" The Chemist's own tears were falling now. He'd always been a softie anyways and the fact that sweet young Ariadne was brutally killed and that their strong Point Man was reduced to a puddle of inconsolable despair because of it made it worse. Made it sink in. "I told her dreams would take her from me…I begged her not to go."

Yusuf couldn't fathom losing his wife, Nita, much less being sent grotesque pictures of her in a ditch. His heart panged for his team member. He wanted to say something comforting but only felt like he annoyed Arthur every time he spoke so instead he stood to throw the glass away. His ears caught the accent of Eames addressing Arthur, "Who could kill a woman that's pregnant with their baby?" The Forger sounded raspy from his sorrow too.

Cobb gruffly answered, "An animal."

The Point laughed without humor, "Fitting. She called him Wolf."

Eames' eyes alighted, "Is that a nickname or is that his actual name?"

"I'm not sure…"

"Is it Bruce Wolffe? Because I've worked with him before…" Arthur's head shot up and tilted. "It was several, several years ago. He was a neurotic fellow and conned the rest of the team out of our money, took it all for himself and disappeared."

Yusuf pulled his own phone out, "Isn't there a whole span of land somewhere in Maine that's been bought out for the protection of the wildlife there?" A website came up all about the State Park. Acres of woods were bought out and turned into private property so that the land would remain untouched and un-commercialized for the protection of the wildlife there-in. Two buyers had gone in together; their names disappeared from the record ever so conveniently. Yet, it was fittingly named _Wolffe_ State Park. How many state parks demanded no visitors or tourists, "No visitors allowed on premises for the safety of yourself and animals…" Yusuf read off and added, "Wolf is not a hard word to spell. I don't think that's a dumbass typo, it had to go through a shitload of paperwork to be named that I'm sure."

"I bet that's natural habitat for the Hooded." Eames smirked.

The Point chided, "Great. We've finally found them…and the reason is dead."

Cobb asked Yusuf, "It's five hours from here. Think we can make it before dark?"

Yusuf looked at his watch, "Absolutely. But we'd need to leave now."

The Extractor rested his hand on Arthur's shoulder, "Come on, let's see if we can find her body, take her home."

Everyone collected their belongings- phones, guns, Arthur pulled out an extra blanket meant for the pull out bed and brought it to wrap Ariadne in. As Eames shrugged on his jacket and held the door open for the team's army to fall out, "Hang on sweet girl, we're coming after all," he stated and then followed Arthur who strode determinedly in front of them down the hallway. The Forger barely heard the infamous sound of a cocked gun and cracked knuckles before the raspy bark so unfamiliar from the Point Man's mouth, "And then I'm going Wolf Hunting." Eames eyeballed the other men to see if they'd heard the murderous indication too. Cobb and Yusuf glanced back at him tensely and then cocked their own guns as they all stepped into the elevator.

Xxxxxx

**Next chapter:** How and exactly who/what "killed" Ariadne + finding the body + the introduction of two small characters. Think she's really dead? I will say I'm pretty evil about it.

Guesses? Thoughts? Theories? Review pleeease! They make me update.


	12. Nightmare Before Christamaus

Whew. This one is a doozy too.  
Can I just say before the thanks that the fact that every single one of you are in complete (demanding) denial that she is not dead was really (shamefully…I know I'm mean for it) funny for me to read. Thank you for the reviews, they made me smile like an idiot and start working on this chappie.

_Nina.4444- _You reeeeaaaaaalllyyy want Ariadne to be alive, don't you? Haha. I always love your reviews, they're so encouraging. And it's the biggest compliment that you thought they were all in character. Yay! _Lauraa-x: _Thank you so much! I know…Wolffe is sick. I hope Arthur gets at him… ;) Yeah when I started out, Grant and Mila weren't even featured OC's, I was just going to have them in passing. So glad they got close to Ariadne and became integral parts of the story and glad you like them too! Sorry to have emotionally killed you =(, I'm fixing to emotionally kill you more. _MusicIsMyHeroine- _when I put the dots, fanfic goes crazy. Sorry. Anyways, it's good to hear from you again! I know how bad weeks are just glad fanfic has been a nice escape for you. I will not spoil anything but…get your tissues ready. ;)

**Chapter 12: The Night Before Christamaus **

**ARIADNE.  
These events take place the night before the Team is sent the Polaroids.**

Mila was put back on rotation until further notice but her duties were at the whim of Wolffe. That night, she worked in the dining hall, helping cut, clean and cook fish. Grant was relieved of monitor duty in favor of the other Brown hackers. He wasn't getting results and Bruce wanted someone who would so he shoved Grant over to the Con Dig to watch prisoners. That unnerved the two schemers because now they couldn't control if or when Red's Point Man was found _but _it also gave them a new opportunity to work with. Grant was able to snag a break for dinner at 9pm and had been loitering for an hour waiting for Rusty to either have a break herself or have a moment to come out and exchange a few sentences. They didn't have the luck to converse before he caught Wolffe's exasperated figure disappear into the food prep room.

Mila minced the celery and threw it into a bowl next to deboned, fileted fish. Wolffe strode determinedly in and headed straight for her, "Rusty." Everyone in the room looked up at him and when they sensed the urgency, two other Browns wordlessly took Mila's work from her and cleared from hearing distance.

He ordered, "We've got a P.O.W who needs to be shut down."

Mila took her hood off and queried, "Isn't Grant in the Dig? I've never shut one down before…"

Wolffe waved his hand dismissively, "Yeah, yeah but the med boxes are out of the substance, I need you to mix another batch." With the most genuine of hope, she prayed he couldn't sense the butterflies in her stomach because he was unnaturally perceptive. And when it came to women, he kept himself in tune. The insects in her abdomen multiplied when he added, "And, uh, I'm out of sedative for Red. I need some ASAP."The Chemist nodded compliantly and then made her way out as he did. Bruce disappeared into the tunnel to the main arena and Mila scanned the hall anxiously. Upon finding Grant, she paced to him with a bowl of fruit she grabbed off the ledge to 'serve' him. "He's asked…we're a go."

"Woah." The Brown swallowed, "Ok."

"You think we can pull this off?" The reality of what she was fixing to do and how it would traumatize her began to soak in. Mila began to tremble.

Grant gritted, "I think we don't have choice."

Xxxxxx

The medical boxes were fairly cleared out. Aside from Mila, there was one other Brown (mashing up herbs to act as pain killers for some wounded brothers) in the Chem area and two were keeping eyes on the patients. She made quick work of her concocting. Quick in this case: reducing a two hour process down to one. The first substance created was the drug they used to put down P.O.W's who had either gone mad, attempted escape or on their last leg and ready for the Hoods' final lesson. The Hoods used the term 'shut down' because it literally shut a person down like cutting off the power of a building and watching the lights go out row by row. It contained a careful mixture of black market drugs smuggled in by freegans who approved of their cause, some venom they harvested from a snake found in their woods and an overdose of the sedative they frequently used to tranquilize. The outcome was punitive: once it entered the blood stream it started to choke out white and red blood cells alike. The sedative relaxed the organs and muscles of the user so reaction of the body became slower, then the poison did its work. What the victim felt at first was elation and a heightening of senses due to the drugs, then their body began to shut down muscle by muscle so that the victim became paralyzed from the neck down, then before the vitals were attacked by the venom, their body racked with convulsions as if they were having a seizure (depending on the dosage and its ratio to the recipient it was an effect that could last minutes or hours) then the target would feel trapped inside their mind and body unable to move as they felt their blood run cold and their lungs freeze up –from which point they would suffocate and eventually their heart would stop.

After her two major tasks were complete, Rusty abandoned the formulation of the sedative normally used for Ariadne and nervously stuffed the different vials into her pocket in a rush. Unfortunately, in the vial that waited to be routinely injected into Ariadne's veins, she had poured the drug meant for the P.O.W.  
xxxxxx

The Chemist delivered the substance to Wolffe's box and then headed back to the kitchen to wait. Things could go horribly wrong if matters didn't fall into place as she and Grant had expected. Half an hour down the line, Wolffe paced in in an urgent, anxious panic, "Something's wrong with Red, I need you in my box now."

Grant stepped out of the Con Dig when he heard the commotion tear through the dining hall. Wolffe was pulling Rusty along by the hand. She looked around the room with determination on half of her face and distress on the other. She made no sign of seeing him but he nodded, pulled his Hood over his head and stepped back into the Con Dig. Calmly, the man took a rod and ran it along the bars of each of the cells…he skimmed over the individuals inside as he went looking for the perfect match. Several of them had passed over the week and on the norm the Hoods would dispose of them in the woods as food for the coyotes. Perfect way to get rid of someone with no traces left. In the back, he found the one he was looking for when a Black Hood bounded in in the corner of his peripherals. With a thrust, he rammed the rod against the poles and yelled at the cell. "Grant."

"Shut up, vermin!" He yelled again then traipsed towards his fellow Hood with a self-satisfied simper, "Liv."Liv took her time leaving; she wrapped her fist around one of the bars and examined the hostages with pride. The lady in Black gave Grant one more glance of approval before stepping back out. Eight. Seven. Six. Five. Four. Three. Two. One…

He sprinted back in the opposite direction and fished out the third brass key on the ring in his hood's pocket. Before hopping down into the separate dug-out hole, he checked the entrance first. Peered his ears. Nothing but the ordinary din of men and women at dinner and the echoes of moans through the Dig. Swiftly, he threw himself inside and pulled on a body. Again, before pulling himself out he eyed the front. Still, no one. Grant hiked his leg up and climbed out of the cell, then laid on his stomach and reached down for the body's arms. He grunted, he groaned, he broke into a sweat but he was able to lug the body out of its containment pit. With his arms in the crook of the form's armpits he threw it over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and sprinted down the length of the cells to the back of the Dig. Click, Click, Click. The reverberation of footsteps came closer. Grant abandoned the body and raced against the footsteps. He grabbed the rod and swung the door of the body's cell closed in the nick of time. "Hey!"

He stopped in mid-air, his rod raised in the air like he'd just slammed it against the bars instead of closing them. There was a familiar Brown, barely containing their excitement, grinning back at him. "Come quick! We pinned Red's Point Man again!"

They hurried down to the control panel and sure enough the tall, slender, suited Point Man was shown on security footage of an apartment building with two shorter, thicker blonde men and an Indian guy in tow. They may have made the switch to a hotel but now the organization knew which city they were in. _Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. _"Did you inform Wolffe?"

"Yeah, he was preoccupied."

_xxxxxxx_

"What's wrong with her!?" Wolffe demanded as Ariadne writhed on the bed. Her brown eyes were wide and fearful but unable to move from their spot on the ceiling. When she wasn't convulsing, her body was limp but there would come an interval where her back would arch and her toes would curl and the veins in her neck would pop as foam collected in the corners of her mouth.

Mila was quick to grab Ariadne's head and turn it so she wouldn't asphyxiate on the froth. She whispered with vigor, "It's going to be ok, Red. It's all going to be ok. You can handle this." Next, she twisted to the Black Hood eyebrows furrowed, voice strained, "I think she's having a negative reaction to the buildup of barbiturates."

Bruce shook his head and sneered, "What?"

"How often have you been using the sedatives on her?!" She yelled. Eyes wide with panic.

Steely and guarded he dragged his answer out, "She's needed tranquilizing every night…"

Mila pinched the bridge of her nose, "Well they've caught up to her. There's too much of the substance in her system. She's in the second phase of overdose and her body is shutting down."

Wolffe's eyes grew wide. "Shit!" He hopped on the bed and grabbed the Architect by the shoulders and started shaking her, "You can't do this, Red! How am I supposed to explain this?!" He was shoved by Rusty, "Stop!" The Chemist had seldom been afraid in her life but when Wolffe put her up to his face by the collar of her shirt and the shoulder of her cloak, she felt lightheaded. His brown eyes turned black and went manic. His voice dropped several octaves lower when he commanded, _"Fix this."_

It was strenuous to find her voice and even once she had it barely croaked out of her, "I can't. There's too much of it in her system. She's going to die."

Straight away, Mila got a taste of the utter violence and cruelty Ariadne had been plagued with. Wolffe slammed her into the wall, "Fix this!"

"I can't!"

"Damn it! FIX IT." Again, he smashed her against the wall with increased force.

The stars floating in the Chemist's vision were interrupting her judgment and thought process. She fought to blink through them, "It's out of our hands," fell out of her mouth like a gust of wind. Only seconds later did she determine that it was because he'd knocked the breath out of her. Brief relief came soon when he released her and let her weakened body slump to the ground.

"This can't be fucking happening!" Wolffe yelled at the Architect. "You stupid tease; you got us into this shit!" Ariadne had passed through another rift of seizures and entered another period of death-like stillness. Bruce jerked her off the mattress and into the floor. As she couldn't catch herself, she fell on her side and face planted into the floor. When he rolled her over, her nose was bleeding and a lone streak of water ran down her cheek. It called to her friend that leaned against the wall.

Mila was at a loss for words, for actions. In her panic and fear she'd forgotten what was supposed to come next. It was really happening. He'd injected Ariadne with the P.O.W's drug and her body was shutting down. The Architect was rapidly moving into phase two. The Chemist sucked in a breath since the Black Hood's eyes cut to hers. "Get up," he gnashed with enough venom to be one of the ingredients in Ariadne's undoing. As told, Mila stood. "Get David. We need to get her out unnoticed lest the morale of the brotherhood falter in their grief."

Nodding, she went to slide her key to leave. But he and his steps halted her, "No. I'll get Ingams. Grant is in the dig, we can sneak her out as a P.O.W through that tunnel. Get him and get her there while I call a meeting to distract. And I want Polaroids of Red so we can send postcards to her Point. Let him know of his failure."  
xxxxxx

Mila couldn't sprint to the Dig, that would attract too much attention. She got there in ample time anyway. Grant had returned to his post and sat dutifully in his chair by the entrance. "Wolffe said get her, take pictures and meet him in the tunnel at the edge of the cells. What do we do?"

"Ok, where is he?" He pulled her Hood closer to his and muttered.

"He's getting David, they're going to call a meeting about her Point Man. He doesn't want anyone to know she's dying." She rushed.

"Well that's perfect," sighed the Brown, "they're going to help us with our plan without even knowing it." Vigilantly, his eyes cut around them before he instructs her, "Go get a potato sack out of the kitchen and the camera—"

"Meet me at Wolffe's box." Mila licked her lips and departed.  
xxxxxx

"Our dear Red has chosen to leave our Organization. I was unable to dissuade her and did not have the heart to hold down her spirit." The deceit of Wolffe boomed through the main arena as Rusty and Grant snuck Ariadne passed the onlookers and through the tunnels to the Dig. It was eerily quiet and empty in the dining hall as they scrambled through it. Once in the Con Dig, Grant fished the keys out of his pocket and tossed them to the ground. They maneuvered around so that the Chemist could drop Ariadne's legs and Grant held her under her back and at the bend of her knees. This left Mila free to grab the keys and run ahead to—

"It's third to last! And the brass key with the chip in the second tooth." Grant called while carrying the Architect behind her. Out of nowhere, Ariadne's body jolted once. The Brown that carried her regarded her eyes. They weren't glazed over, they weren't out of focus…they were as clear and seeing as if she was up and walking around except she couldn't move them. They were watering, red and veiny because she couldn't bring herself to blink but as he looked into her orbs he knew that she understood (maybe not fully) what was happening. She was seeing, hearing and feeling all of this. She involuntarily jerked again. "Rust, hurry it up. Another round of spasms are approaching."

The jingle and jangle of keys sounded like the bells of St. John in the hollowed out hall of cells but she was able to get it open. Grant leapt down into the dig he'd been in beforehand and smoothly laid Ariadne down on the dirt floor. "Camera." He held his hand out and the Polaroid device was placed in it. The tiny Parisian let out a shiver. He had to do this fast before the next wave of convulsions kicked in full swing. Mila ran down to the entrance to listen out for someone, anyone. "We have the location of her Point Man and will keep him in sight until her safety is confirmed. Fear not!" More lies flooding the ears of their fellow Hoods gave her short lived alleviation. As she kept watch, Grant tangled the Architect's limbs (whispered, "I'm sorry, I've got to) and positioned her head just so. He snapped several pictures from all angles and one close up of her face. Next, he frantically collected them, laid them up to focus then screeched for Mila as Ariadne began flopping around like a fish out of water.

The Chemist dove in and switched places with him. Meanwhile, Grant pulled himself out and went to guard while she pulled the antidote (carefully formulated and hidden earlier) out of the waistband on her pants. In haste, the Architect's shirt came up and the needle was stuck into her stomach. It was hard to keep it steady as Ariadne shook; Mila laid on Ariadne's chest and pushed down on the lower half of her abdomen to keep her middle as stable as possible while she released all of the substance into her bloodstream. Right away, seconds later, the seizing began to dwindle down. The Chemist cleared her throat.

As Grant took one last cursory glance and marched back down the hall, Mila scrambled out of the pit. He pointed behind her, "There's a P.O.W. at the end of the hall. Undress her, put the potato sack on her head and bring her clothes here." She complied. Astonishingly, Ariadne was taking deep breaths with an opened mouth and activating movement in her fingers. The antidote was spreading fast in her system. Her eyes easily swiveled to Grant when he dropped into the cell with her. He pulled her up and began stripping her of her garments. Her eyes still couldn't do much but widen and dart down to his hands at her shirt (all Wolffe allowed her to wear in his box was her underwear and a button up). He soothed reassuringly, "I'm not going to hurt you. We've got to switch your clothes. We'd let you do it but I don't think that's possible at the moment."

Mila was back, he could tell from the way the unease in the Architect's eyes had subsided as she looked over his shoulder. Grant followed her eyes behind him where the Chemist was standing and holding out clothes. He yanked Ariadne's underwear down without looking and got up, "I think she'd be more comfortable with you doing this. Put those on her, close the cell back after you. We've got seconds left, if that." They switched again. Mila tugged a bloodstained, tattered, dirt smudged thermal over her friend's head and slipped her arms through the sleeves clumsily. Thereafter slid the underwear on her (Inside out. As a part time medic, she thought ahead to avoid infection) and rolled the jeans to pull them up her legs. They were too big for her and hung around the waist but anyone in the cells had lost enough weight for that detail to be passed over under scrutiny. For the finishing touch she shrugged the ripped blazer that belonged to the prisoner onto Ariadne and rolled her over to face the back of the cell. Mila hastily murmured in her ear, "Just trust us. Don't move, don't make a sound," then bolted up out of the small pit and locked the cell back. Grant had presently completed dressing the Prisoner in Ariadne's garb. With the sack over her head, the Prisoner's pale skin and small features could pass as a clone for the tiny Parisian huddled in the cell down the way. Grant and Rusty leaned against the wall and held their breath…Mila felt an unexpected but welcomed squeeze of her palm just before Ingams and Wolffe marched in.  
xxxxxx

"Good. Did anyone see?" The beast dissected the row of cells and the entrance with lasers shooting out of his vision.

Grant swallowed, "No," he handed Wolffe the pictures he'd snapped.

For someone who should be grieving the loss of what he claimed to be a beloved friend and fellow Hood (one whom he supposedly tended to and cared for personally), Bruce's evil, gratified, grin as he raked his eyes along the pictures seemed pretty contented by the circumstances. "Splendid," he leered (tucked one of the pictures into his pocket) and then raised an eyebrow at the corpse on the ground, "She's gone?"

Now Mila joined the conversation (if you could call it that) and unleashed some medic jargon on them for extra effect, "Red hasn't experienced an ictus since we retrieved her. I believe she's in the postictal phase of multiple organ failure. At this rate her homeostasis can't be maintained and she'll be deceased within the half hour if not already."

They all took her long reply to mean yes. Wolffe slung her over his shoulder and Ingams jumped ahead of him to go through the tunnel and then up a hidden back stairwell to the emergency hatch. Grant was ordered to follow and Mila to stay and monitor the crowds. So far no more questions had been asked and the prospect of getting away with it scot free was becoming more and more likely until David queried, "Why is there a sack tied on her head?"

Grant had thought about that. He reasoned, "We're scheduled for a dump of P.O.W's tomorrow…I thought if anyone came across her body they wouldn't ask questions if she were bound like one of them."

Bruce snorted, "Good thinking. Mac will be justified in having you as his replacement."  
xxxxxx

They walked for half the night and dumped the body a mile from the edge of the forest with little gentility. Wolffe kicked at the body's side, "Sweet dreams, Little Red." The light blue light of morning had just peaked into a yellow when they climbed back down the hatch. The assigned Browns were already picking through the cells and bagging the heads of the dead prisoners. Liv was supervising. Sharp as ever, her eyes caught them in the shadows, "Well, well, how did you three sneak past?"

"We have our ways." Wolffe flirted and flicked her chin with his index when he got close enough, "I want Grant to head up the dump."

"Aye, Aye." She chided with a salute and Bruce pulled his new sidekick close, "Keep an eye on them. Make sure no one wants to dump too close to Red."  
xxxxxx

Once Ingams and Wolffe had cleared from the Dig and the Lady in Black turned her back, Grant grabbed a sack and headed straight for Ariadne's cell. She was still there, still facing the wall but he hoped to God the antidote hadn't stopped working or she'd had a reversed reaction. He took his time this time because haste would arouse suspicion. He slid down into the cell and turned her over. Ariadne jumped, scared. His hand flew to her mouth, "Shh." Her eyes would not decrease in size. So he explained and hoped it would make her cooperate. "I'm going to sneak you out of here. But you've got to look dead like the rest of the prisoners…" Grant twisted to see if anyone was close and then resumed, "I've got to give you sedative to make you limp and bag your head, ok?" It was hesitant but she nodded. She probably figured that if this was a trick into death that she'd rather that than stay here. Grant pulled a small kit Rusty had provided him with out of the back of his waistband and injected more serum into Ariadne's stomach.

Her body was washed over into the lethargic state she'd become accustomed to and then the world went dark (again) when Grant covered her head and tied it. In the corner, a pin jabbed through (not close enough to prick her) but so a pinhole of light and air could find its way in to her. Then her body was lifted up and folded over what felt like a shoulder. Both of Grant's arms kept her from toppling behind him and face planting into the ground by squeezing her to him around her thighs. There was a hard surface against the back of her legs and she fell back through the air (without reflexes because they'd been deadened by the sedative) and felt more hard surface collide with her back and head. It knocked the wind out of her. There were voices all around. The sounds of lumps of flesh as they flopped and were tossed about as she had been. There was scuffling by her head and a grunt and then she was being pulled from under her arms and her legs came to rest on the same plane the rest of her body laid on. She laid there for a while; So long that she'd given in to the substance and dozed into an incomprehensible state. Then she was picked up again. Slung over a shoulder again and her upper body swung back and forth, her head hit someone's back as she felt herself float higher and higher. Like a balloon. A red balloon.

Everything sounded muffled and warped but there were beeps like she was in a spaceship. And a loud metal clanging. And it was really, really hot. Beads of sweat covered her body like condensation on a glass of lemonade in the heat of summer. It seemed like hours that she swayed and bumped her head and heard crunchy stuff and chirping things and big exhausted huffs. Then plop. Her body collapsed on the rough ground all at once. The sack was cut off her head and the blinding light came back to encompass her. Ariadne had only enough control of her body to squint her eyes but it was still too dazzlingly sunny. Grant (or she assumed it was still him) stood in front of her to block as much as he could while he shed his brown cowl and revealed her red underneath it. He pulled it off too and laid it atop her, taking care to cover her eyes with a friendly and hopeful smile. She realized she was in a ditch on the edge of a road somewhere. The foreboding trees of the woods swayed feet behind her. If she could've opened her mouth and drowned him in gratitude she would've. The third time out didn't take the toll on her that it had when she first emerged and with her trusty Hood, her eyes adjusted faster than they had in times previous. Ariadne's range of focus hadn't expanded to the fullest but she could see her phone pulled out of the Brown Hood's pocket and placed on the ground beside her. He kneeled and laid his hand encouragingly on her head, "The sedative should start wearing off in a few hours. Try to get away from the Woods, try to find someone. There isn't much cell service here but call your Point Man if you can. Good luck, Re—Ariadne. I'm sorry we couldn't get you out sooner."

Ariadne struggled to emit as many of the emotions she felt for him through her eyes. Deep appreciation, thankfulness, undying gratitude. By will, she pushed to voice something, anything. Even if she could just make a sound—an unintelligible squeak—to convey she was aware the risk he and Rusty had taken. Aware of how they'd done the impossible and pulled her from under the wolf's paw. All she could muster was a rush of breath. The Architect was still so sleepy, that her eyes automatically slid closed. When she noticed it, they fluttered open again but Grant was gone. As her skin adapted to the warmth and the light she'd been deprived of, Ariadne nodded off under the influence of the drug. Since she was so out of it, she didn't even hear the sound of a dog's bark.  
xxxxxx

**ARTHUR.  
Present time.**

The entire six hours to the State Park, the car was filled with an unbearable, taut, tension. Devastation circulated through the vehicle as if it was the air through the vents. Each man stared solemnly at their own fixed point of choice. Arthur drove with a lead foot, even through the twists and turns of the back roads that led to the park. It was a long stretch of dirt road, deep ditches on either side and trees as far as the eye could reach. Slowly, they rode down as close to the ditch as it was safe to be and looked for signs of the Architect's body. The park was ginormous and covered several hundred acres of land of on both sides of the road. They split up. Half of them took one side and half took the other. They opted to walk the ditches on foot lest they miss something by taking the car. Cobb and Eames took the left and Arthur was left with Yusuf to trek the right. At first crunching leaves did the talking for them but near the third hour, it got to the point where Yusuf couldn't bear it anymore, "I know this must be hard for you…" The Chemist huffed as he tried to keep up, "I couldn't even fathom losing Nita like this."

"How fortunate you still have her, then." Arthur deadpanned back at him.

Yusuf cringed…how did he always manage to offend Arthur when he opened his mouth? A few deep breaths and ideas later, Yusuf tried a different approach, "You know, I always admired her spirit. Ariadne was always so confident, so sure of what she wanted and not afraid to go after it. I mean—following Cobb into limbo? I pee my pants just thinking about it…" He took Arthur's silence as a good sign. A sign to keep going. He chuckled, "I remember this one time she and I—"

Arthur twisted around and held his palm up, "I appreciate that you have wonderful memories of Ariadne. And I'm sure my behavior is the last way she would want me to act… but I just lost the better half of me—"

_She's sitting next to him, molding into his side. His arm is neatly wedged between her shoulders and the couch. On the tv are cartoonish faces and high pitched voices dancing and singing for no one because the kids aren't even paying attention. The squeals of Philippa and James are loud enough to surpass it. They've got plastic aprons and splotches of various colors on their faces and in their hair. Ariadne has assured Cobb that the puffy fabric paint sets she bought them are washable; speaking of Cobb, the smells of taco meat and salsa have started wafting into the living room the closer it gets to dinnertime. Arthur and Ariadne are presented a shirt each. The kids made them for the couple last night and are now working on some for daddy. Ari's is from Pippa and Arthur's from James. Ariadne's delighted with hers and shows it off to him right away: It's a castle made out of skyscrapers and a rainbow with what looks like a brown haired girl and a shorter blonde holding hands. Arthur's is….interesting. It's just a person but the person has two heads, four arms and four legs. "What is this supposed to be?" The kids have already skipped off but Arthur flips his up to Ariadne with a grimace, "Spiderman?" Ariadne swats and hushes him. "It's a person…I think?" They both tilt their heads and examine it. He whispers, befuddled, "With eight appendages?" The Architect tries to be optimistic, "It's very original…" His eyes grow big at hers, "I'm not wearing this." She blusters, "Arthur. You can at least sleep in it. They made these just for us; they need to see us wear them." The Point sighs because he knows she's right. Ariadne takes it from him and holds it up in front of her to examine it again. She comes up with this, "You know…it could be like a nod to mythology…" He knows he's giving her the dumbest look. The Architect treads on, "In mythology they think that humans used to have two heads and four arms and four legs but when Zeus got mad and wanted vengeance on humans he split them up and condemned them to an eternity of roaming the earth searching for their other half." She looks back at James' masterpiece: the stick arms and legs (all eight), the smiley face and sprouts of hair, "It's almost poetic in a way." They both take showers after dinner and come down for pie in their pj pants and new shirts. Cobb stifles a snort and asks, "Are these the shirts the kids made you?" Ariadne beams, "Yes," She straightens both herself and the shirt out and holds her hands so that they're modeling the work, "Mine is a lovely modern day castle landscape with a rainbow and me and my bestest little friend in the world." Philippa giggles and hugs her leg. Then Arthur pulls at the shirt to flatten it for best view and states, "And this is me and Ariadne." Cobb squints…Arthur lines the side of his hand in the middle of the drawing, "There's me." He points to one half and then other, "And this is Ari. Well—switch that. That side is prettier." Cobb nods slowly, "Interesting." James laughs too. Arthur jokes, "It's a mythology thing. You have a very poetic son." The Point winks at Ari and she steals a bite of his pie (even though she has her own.)_

"—and she's lying here somewhere dead. And I have to collect her and clean her up and bring her home to bury her. I have to call her parents and let them know their baby is dead; and you know what? They have no idea who I am or what she was to me. That I offered to give up everything for her. That I wanted to marry her. I'm going to have to look her father in the eyes and watch her mother fall apart because I failed them and their little girl. So while I'm grateful you have your memories, recounting them to me only deepens my guilt."

Yusuf decided not to reply. Just grimaced and went back to poking the grass with the toe of his shoe. Arthur was right about Ariadne not approving of him acting this way. She hated when the Point placed blame on people, including himself, because of her. She hated him being so consumed with the negativity of death. Not that there was much positive in the way Ariadne had passed…but Yusuf remembered a conversation he overheard in the back of the first class cabin on the flight back from one of their last jobs together:

"_Stop." The Architect takes his head in her hands. Arthur's breathing heavily and fume is coming out of his ears but it's slowing as she stares at him. "And sit down before that vein in your head pops," It's sardonic and so Ariadne. He rolls his eyes but obeys. The team never thought it would actually happen but she'd done it. She'd wrapped him around her finger and they were still getting used to this committed, human-like Arthur. "Now, what are you thinking? That was uncalled for…" "That was completely called for. Those idiots didn't do their job and it almost cost you your life." He's not exactly attempting to be quiet about it all. "Oh, it was not _that _bad." She reasons and he disagrees, "Eames was supposed to make sure you made it to the brig safely—" "I think Eames had enough jobs to do. I don't need a babysitter." Arthur keeps on and Yusuf winces when he hears his name, "Well that wouldn't have been a problem if Yusuf had given you the correct sedative so you could've created your own kick." The Architect sees Yusuf looking (he turns around shortly after but still listens) and lowers to a harsh whisper, "Don't hold them responsible for this. _I'm _the one who wasn't where I needed to be on time. Besides, everything worked out didn't it?" "They sent you to limbo a second time; They're lucky it did." He grits. "Would you stop? God, you're impossible," exasperated sighs escape her. "I could've lost you…that upsets me," Arthur's volume finally declines down to hers. "But you didn't. You won't." The Chemist hears a soft smack and assumes the couple has shared a kiss. "I know it's your nature. I know it's only because you care but I hate it when you act like this." It's Arthur's turn to sigh, "I'm sorry." "I think you should be apologizing to Eames and Yusuf…" A grunt sounds from the Point. "At least Yusuf then." Sure enough, two minutes later the tall, suited, Point takes a seat across from Yusuf and apologizes for going off on him. _

Cobb and Eames had been checking the edges of the woods as well. The forger could tell Cobb was still increasingly fretful over Arthur and how this affected him. Eames kept an eye on everything around him and observed that the Extractor kept more of an eye on the Point across the way than he did the ground at his feet. They scoured the trenches but it was Eames who did the bulk of rummaging. He found the task helped him keep his mind from his own grief. Ariadne had become somewhat of a sister to him as cliché as that sounds. They were continuously playing pranks on one another, partaking in good-hearted humor together. He'd taught her how to pickpocket. It made Eames laugh to remember the first time the rest of the team saw those talents. It was before her and Arthur started dating—maybe? Yes—because he recalled the look on Arthur's face giving him an extra kick. Eames had taught her the basics, listed off some ways she could use her womanly charm to pull one over on men but he hadn't broken it down step by step. He merely briefed her and left it at that. He thought _she _left it at that too. He was proved wrong the next time the team met in the warehouse.

_She enters the warehouse as routinely as always. Same time, same cuppa joe in her tiny hand. But instead of heading straight for her desk (where Arthur is waiting to go over the final sketches of his level) she heads straight for Eames'. She plops down on top of the mahogany, frustrated, defeated, offended. "I hate men." Eames chides, "Tough weekend off, puppet?" Ariadne abandons her caramel macchiato on a post it and rubs her forehead, "The worst…all my friends dragged me to a club and set me up with this god awful asshole…" Eames looked around her shoulder and has to hide a shit-eating grin because he and Ariadne are center of Arthur's attention at this point. To egg him on, the Forger pats her leg, "I'm sorry…" She (thankfully, heheheh) makes no move to leave. Instead, she crosses her legs and groans (even better. He hopes Arthur can hear) "You have no idea…he talked only about himself the entire time. He ordered for me. He thinks he's the smartest person on the planet, the most romantic, God's gift to women…" Then she gets up off the desk and decides to straddle Eames in the chair. And it's too perfectly hilarious when he looks over and sees Arthur as red as a cherry tomato and steam shooting from his nostrils like a choo choo train. "…but I tell you what, Eames, on further inspection he doesn't have much to offer. Not like you, I'm sure…" Eames clears his throat…now it's getting a little uncomfortable because he definitely doesn't see Ariadne that way and he hopes he hasn't given her the wrong idea. And now she's sort of complaining but crying with her mouth dangerously close to his ear and her hand is roaming around. It's not the tiniest bit arousing and frick, not even the least bit humorous when Arthur begins to storm his way. "Hey, you two." Arthur calls; Eames isn't laughing as hard as he thought he'd be. "We're on the clock. What the hell is going on here?" And Ariadne hops up innocently, spritely and without a trace of the former disturbance. She smiles at Arthur with—pride? "Eames is buying lunch." The two men deadpan at her. "And dinner…and a couple of scarves…and whatever else his card will get me. Oh! I need new colored ink pens." Arthur narrows his eyes, "Could you explain to me what you were just doing?" Eames finds his wit again (to clear the awkwardness of feeling molested by her) and chides, "Ooh, that's quite kinky, Artie." But Arthur and Ariadne ignore him and she holds up a brown leather wallet with the initials W.E.E. in the corner. "I was pickpocketing." The Forger's hands go to his pant pockets and frantically feel around. "Holy hell..." She opens it and snickers, "You know the middle E stands for Earnest?" Arthur smirks when he finally understands and their new Chemist for the job shouts across the room… "Damn girl. Wanna come pick _my_ pocket?" _ That's the way he wants to remember her. Sassy, a ball of brazen energy, flitting around like a pixie. Not the way they saw her on the live stream and most certainly not how she looked in the polaroids.

Cobb wouldn't lie about feeling guilt over this too. He has bad track records with Architects, doesn't he? Arthur's accusations back at the apartment were true. He _had _made Arthur hold off. He _had _been more lenient than he should've been. Ariadne deserved better than that. Especially from him. After all, how much had Ariadne risked for him to see his children again? She barely knew Cobb in the beginning, only of the skeletons in his closet. Only of Mal, freight trains, alleged murder and guilt. Yet she insisted on coming into the dream, demanded she follow him down, campaigned for them not to give up, to go to limbo and then made damn sure he confronted his problems. He couldn't have done those things without her. Without Ariadne, the ending of the Inception job would've been different. He might not have made it back to his kids. He wouldn't have a clear conscious or head for that matter. What had he done to repay her? He'd talked the team into finishing their current job first. He dragged his feet. (Not truly but guilt has a way of exaggerating itself) "Cobb." Eames gagged. The Extractor hadn't even noticed that the other man had gotten ahead of him. "Get! Get!" He saw Eames charging at something before he heard the growls of animals.

BANG. BANG. BANG.

Eames shot three gunshots into the air and the dogs barked and, scattered leaving the picked apart naked body of their friend for view. "Agh," The Forger turned from it, his arm as a shield for his eyes. Cobb figured out his knees were weak after he felt the wet soil through the knees of his pants, "Jesus Christ…" Eames was rubbing his hand through his hair so roughly, it's a wonder he didn't go bald.

"Cobb! You find something?" They heard Yusuf yell across the way. Both he and Arthur were crouched down in the dike as if they were keeping cover. Arthur's gun was drawn and Yusuf's hands above his head. They had only heard the gunshots and not where they'd come from. When Eames turned to look at them then his drawn weapon could be seen and they stood casually. Eames opened his mouth to reply but Dom interrupted him in a rush, "Lie."

"What?" The Forger's eyes were out of focus. There were so many notions flying through his head that perhaps if you'd peered into his eyes close enough you would see through the windows into his brain. Imagine an office building on fire, the people trying to save as many files as they can but papers are flying everywhere and humans are dashing here and there and screeching like chickens with their heads cut off and bouts of fire are shooting from the corners of the room like fireworks. And lights are busting off the ceiling and swinging and sparking. Then imagine standing in the very middle of that building. That is the picture of Eames trying to make sense of all that his brain was trying to compute, perceive and accept. And now Cobb was throwing in a monkey wrench like he was handing Eames a squirt bottle of gasoline and expecting him to figure out how that would help.

Cobb appeared no better off than the man in front of him. Except instead of baffled and overwhelmed he was merely desperate. Seeing Ariadne's body with the flesh picked apart and the face bitten out of came as a sudden shock. Neither of them predicted they'd find her in that state. Beaten and left for dead was something they'd all prepared themselves for. A lump of chewed up raw meat was something they had not. The second those wolves or foxes or whatever they were cleared and a fresh, bloodied, mauled Ariadne was what greeted them (the half of her face still intact painted in red, white and blue: a bloody nose, foamy mouth, black eye) it was like he and Eames had been unexpectedly thrown off the edge of a cliff. And since Eames was left incoherent by the blow, Cobb was singlehandedly—singlemindedly—trying to lug he and Eames back to safe ground while trying to keep Arthur and Yusuf away from it _and_ keep them from knowing why. He breathed, not completely there in the mind either, "It'll be better for Arthur never to find her than to find her like this…"

"Dom. Eames. What's going on over there?" Arthur had caught on to something. He and Yusuf began striding towards them across the large road.

It took great force but the Extractor managed to rise back to his feet and wave off, "Nothing. Just a scare with some animals is all." Eames was useless. He couldn't bring himself to turn around and back Cobb up. His eyes were glued to the girl and the moisture there was evident. The racking of Eames' body had grown unmistakable and it caused the steps of the other two men to quicken their pace. Cobb jogged up to meet Arthur in the middle of the road and stood to obstruct his view. "It's nothing. Go back to your side and keep looking."

Arthur's face grew white, "What don't you want me to see?" he demanded but there wasn't demand in his face, there was insurmountable fear.

Yusuf had walked passed Cobb while he was focused on deterring Arthur. Upon stepping down into the ditch and seeing the source of his teammates' strange behavior, he reacted much like the Forger had. The Chemist jumped, "Oh my _God…_" His brown eyes blinked profusely and he turned away like lightning, covered the side of his face with his hand. Blinded by the image. It didn't go unnoticed by the Point. He pushed to bypass his apprehensive friend and— Arthur's skin turned so white, he was translucent. He stumbled forward and squatted down by her body. An open-mouthed Arthur moved his shaky hands above and along it; it was obvious he didn't know how or if he even wanted to touch her, move her, console her. As his right hand found one spot intact (the back corner of her head with blood crusted brown hair) the rest of his body began heaving. "No…" he breathed, "You deserved better than this." The Point ran the hand through his hair and was either unaware that her blood was now embedded in his hair and smeared along the side of his face or he could care less. But the hand returned to her head soft and careful.

The Extractor pulled Arthur into him when The Point lost it. Arthur hadn't even realized that the streams of water blurring his vision weren't rain, they were his. And the strange animalistic grunts and groans weren't the men around him or the animals in the woods, they were his. "I know…" The blonde man soothed, "I know, I know…I'm sorry, Arthur." Cobb allowed himself to break and sob a little bit too. Ariadne's body looked not unlike Mal's when she'd jumped some twenty floors down. Unrecognizable. "Oh God…" Arthur's hands clapped over his mouth and he stumbled away from Cobb to empty his stomach. From there he rolled to his back and laid paralyzed on the dirt. Olive skinned, calloused hands grabbed at the patches of dried, dead grass and pulled at them. The poor Point Man looked like he was drowning on dry land. Yusuf was seated on the grass then, too. One of his fists covered his lips while he gaped, his other fist copied Arthur's and pulled blades of green from their home in the soil. Eames was hunched over, hands clasped behind his head, choking on all the salt water dripping down his face. The sounds around him made it worse; the sounds of stone cold, cool and collected Arthur blubbering and wretching in grief were never a thing he'd wanted to hear. So Eames looked up at him. The red rimmed eyes of the Forger widened in terror and scrambled to jump on Arthur's form.

BANG.

The bullet whizzed passed his ear; missed it by a fraction of an inch. Missed _Arthur's temple_ by a fraction of an inch. The Englishman couldn't wait for his heartbeat to stop pounding in his ribcage before his sorrow-affected rasp scolded his colleague, "What the fuck are you thinking? We can't lose you too, asshole!" Arthur fought back to once again put the gun to his head. They rolled full circle in the trench a few times before Eames pried the firearm from Arthur's white knuckles and Cobb pinned Arthur down himself. "Stop!" Arthur ignored him; without his handgun he began to thrust his head into the ground. He hoped he would hit his head hard enough that his skull would crack open and the team could bury them together. "Arthur, stop!"

"_Arthur, stop." Her hand presses against his cheek and he leans into it. "You're going to end up spending all the time we have together worrying about what might happen when we're not." "I know, I know. I'm sorry," he turns his head to kiss her palm, "I can't help it I'm a planner." She chuckles, "No you're a control freak." Her feather-light arms hook around his neck and she lifts her eyebrows, "You can't control the ways of the Universe." He shrugs, "Maybe…" She rolls her eyes. "But that doesn't mean I can't try to protect the woman it revolves around." "You're a goose…" she laughs and adds, "We both know the Universe obviously revolves around Frodo." They look to the stray kitty their apartment building has adopted as he paws at their window. _

Dom Cobb saw a little boy looking back at him when he met Arthur with hard blue eyes. He dared him to try something else with that warning look parent's always give. That special one that you only need one second as the target of before you stop what you're doing. "I did this to her…" He found himself smoothing Arthur's sweaty hair back like he would James'. Like he was comforting his devastated five year old son after he broke a favorite toy or accidentally shook and killed his goldfish. "No. This isn't your fault. And even if it was, Ariadne wouldn't want you to harm yourself."

"That should be me," he grated.

"_That should be me." Sprawled out on the white carpet of a rich Texan mansion, there's a dead woman with blood leaking out her frontal lobe. They know this woman to be Marta Ragan, their Extractor. Ariadne's sitting with her legs hanging off the king sized mattress still hooked up to the PASIV. Her heart bleeds for others with the slightest prick so she looks on at her former leader with sympathy and remorse. The Chemist hadn't gone into the field, a Forger wasn't necessary, and clearly their client/tourist had awoken, shot the failure and escaped. That leaves her with the company of her Point Man and their unconscious mark. Arthur has already pulled his lead out and tucked his cord neatly into the machine's side. She fidgets with her wristband but he kneels in front of her to take it out because she's taking too long. "Don't say that." He hands her an alcoholic pad to hold against the puncture point while he works swiftly to coil her cord and pack up the PASIV. At this point she realizes there's not enough time to wallow in her guilt like her favorite Extractor so she stands and packs her things away. "I'm the one who fucked up the designs." She bites at herself more than she's making conversation but Arthur replies, "Maybe you did…but _she_ didn't get the information." He takes her hand, throws his bag over his shoulder and pulls her outside and into next door's yard where a car is conveniently waiting to pick them up. Still, it won't get out of her mind, "But if we weren't working for _your _contact, if you hadn't made a deal with him beforehand, it _could've _been me. It would've been me too." They settle into the car and get on the road to nowhere. But he takes the time at the next stop to promise, "Look at me." She does but it's hesitant and half ashamed. "It will never be you. I won't let it be."_

Arthur gasped like he was coming up for air, "I wish that were me."

"It shouldn't be any of us," Cobb grimaced. Arthur shook his head inconsolably. Eames let his eyes wander upward from the two and met Yusuf's. They didn't need gestures or words to convey how powerless they felt. All their hands, every man's there, clutched their totems. Arthur put his arms over his face to block the world out. His friend's attempts to give him solace were exacerbating the heartache. He heard: "Arthur…" And thought:

"_Arthur…" She agreed to meet him at 7:30 and its 7:42. He wasn't worried. If her life's not on the line then Ariadne's usually late. He'd been patiently standing in the lobby of the hotel in case she wasn't sure what restaurant he was talking about. Every now and again he had straightened his suit jacket and refolded the cuffs of his sleeves. She's here now though so he turns to greet her with a smile but it falls away and he feels his eyebrows float up his forehead so high they may pop off. His auburn eyes dance up and down her frame. She blinks and starts to nervously rub the back of her neck, "So does the silence mean I look stupid or…" His eyes jump to find hers, "No. No, you look love—you look lovelier than normal." He feels like he's freefalling when she bites her lip. She's awkwardly avoiding his eyes while he's eagerly trying to catch hers. Ariadne twirls some hair, "Thanks…I, um, actually fooled with my hair, so—" Can you feel your eyes when they start to sparkle? Because he can. She took special care in getting ready to see him; she looked this way for him. "You didn't have to just for me." Was that the right thing to say? He hasn't done this in a while. Maybe it wasn't because her cheeks are flushing red down to her neck. "Well.." she struggles finding how to respond to that. Great, he's embarrassed her. "You always see it in messy ponytails so I thought variety might be nice." His throat is drying out. Neither of them speaks. He's still straining to win her eye contact and she's still timidly scanning the crowds milling in the hotel instead. Then boom her eyes shoot up and his stomach clenches because he wasn't expecting the effect it would have on him. "So…we're really having dinner together…" "Apparently so," he nods. Thank goodness it comes out smoother than he feels. "Just the two of us…"she nods as well. "Three's a crowd." She grins slyly at him and all at once she's the Architect from the warehouse again but somehow mixed with this transfixing woman before him and he definitely likes the mixture of the two. "I know he lives in London but I can't help feeling like Eames is spying on us and snickering his ass off right now," she quips and he smirks, "And Yusuf's probably coughing up fifty bucks." They break the ice by breaking into laughter. "Well, our table's ready when you are." "Are _you _ready?" He proffers his arm with dimples he's never shown her before, "More than ready." He remembers being prepared to start their first date. What he wasn't prepared for was the chain of events that forced him irreversibly in love with her. _

He opened his eyes and the hotel restaurant was gone. Their low-lit table by the window was gone. Their first dinner together and her shy smiling face: gone. Instead of twirling angel hair pasta on her fork and laughing at his retort about Eames as he bravely slid his hand forward to cover hers…she was ripped open in the bottom of a ditch. Eames had sobered up as best he could and warned them, "We need to get out of here. Who knows how close their quarters are. They may have heard the gunshots."

Arthur steeled, wiped his eyes with his sleeve and pushed himself up, "Let them come. I'll leave when every one of them looks like her."

"We'll be outnumbered," Cobb rationalized, "If you want to shut them down, I'm all for it but we need a bigger team. We should get Saito involved and come back with a plan and an army of his men."

The Extractor was pushed back by Arthur who seethed, "You think I'm going to let you talk me into waiting it out, again?" Dom sighed. There was no use arguing back or apologizing again; his friend wasn't in his right mind.

It was Yusuf who by complete surprise was the one whose comment touched Arthur, "Ariadne would." Everyone's eyes locked on the Chemist. He forged on unaltered, "I think all of us are ready to charge into battle and bring our Architect—our friend—justice. However, if she could hear us right now she'd be chewing us out for being reckless. She'd smile at me sincerely and do some reasoning, she'd yell at Cobb, she'd sarcastically be like, "Oh come on, Mr. Eames, are you stupid?", and she'd make Arthur look at her and talk him down until his blood quit bubbling and we'd get in that car and figure out a plan. She was the glue that held this team together and whenever she forced us to do something, she was usually right. She's still right. I think we should listen to Cobb."

The Point Man swallowed harshly but agreed. Eames piped up, "Should we leave her b—" he couldn't bring himself to say 'body'. It cemented the fact that Ariadne Bourgeois, their tiny beloved, snarky Architect was dead.

"No. I'm not abandoning her a second time…" Arthur was offended beyond belief.

"There's not much left of her to bring back."

It was easiest and best to leave what remained of her there. It took all three of them physically dragging Arthur from her and to the vehicle. Cobb took over the reins and drove them back. The world had never been so silent and colorless. So cruel. Arthur took a shower (Yusuf had to check on him twice because he'd been in there so long) and then the group of men sat around a bottle of scotch in the living area. On the coffee table, Arthur's phone started vibrating. The caller id was blocked. The Hoods had called to rub her death in his face. He grabbed his cell device, shoved it to his ear and growled, "What?!"  
xxxxxx

**HAROLD AND CHRISTA MAUS.  
Earlier that morning.**

They used this road once a week as a shortcut to the farmer's market. She was always leery to use it because it was supposed to be blocked off and she was sure that state trooper's lurked in the woods just waiting to write them up a hundred dollar ticket but Harold was stubborn. He didn't want to have to deal with the fools on the highway and they lived right around the corner from the park so why go around their elbow to get to their nose? Besides, no one had caught them yet. Anyway, they put-putted down the dirt road and fought over whether they should use the right side of the road (even though there weren't any lanes and it was vacant save for them) or not.  
She huffed and looked out her window in a tizzy. "Harold!"

"For heaven's sake," The hefty bald man groaned, "what now, Christa?"

The woman pointed to an object up ahead on her side of the street, "Is that a dead deer?"

He peered, "I guess so," then quipped with self-satisfaction, "See? Apparently we're not the only ones who take this road." Harold readjusted his sunglasses and leant back in his seat while they cruised on. He jumped out of his skin when his wife gave another dramatic wail. "Oh my stars!" Christa's hand flew to her chest. "Harold, pull over."

Harold sighed exasperatedly, "Now, Christa, we can't bury all the road kill we find…"

His wife gawked at him, "Harold, that is a _person_. _Pull over_."

Startled, he obeyed and they hopped out. Christa stood back but Harold crept forward in case it was a trick. His head tilted, "Honey, it's a young woman…" Harold rolled the figure to her back and the eyes fluttered open weakly. "Miss, are you ok?" The middle aged man looked around at the surroundings for a clue, "What happened? How did you get here?"

Christa decided it was safe to stumble down into the trench and then came forward and looked the girl over. She saw the stain of her clothes and wounds all over her visage. "Oh, Dear...Oh, Sweetie, are you alright?"

All the poor girl could do was loll her head tiredly and squeak, "Help…plea…plea…."

Harold looked up at his wife, "We should take her to Jeff and have him look at her," After Christa nodded in approval, he picked her up bridal style and laid her in the backseat of their Cadillac. The woman noticed a shiny white square…well it was a cell phone once she'd picked it up and looked at it—that would definitely be useful. It was out of charge but Jeff had a phone like it, they could charge it there and find a friend or family member to contact. They hopped in the car and made a U-turn to head back to their little town. Worried but with careful smile plastered on her face, Ms. Christa Maus looked back, "Can you tell us your name, Honey?"

The Architect curled into her red cloak and peeked one eye out of the fabric. Soft but clear, she breathlessly declared, "Ari…Ariadne..."  
xxxxxx

**ARTHUR.  
Present time.**

"Is this Arthur?" The Point stilled, confused. It was an older woman not the dark, ruthless man he was expecting.

"Yes…" he warily replied, "Who are you and how did you get this phone?"

Carefully, it was explained, "My name is Christa Maus. My husband and I found this young woman in a ditch earlier today. Beaten real bad. So we brought her home—our son is studying to be a Doctor so we had him look at her—and I saw that you were the emergency contact in her phone."

It still didn't register. Since he was inebriated, things processed slower. He thought someone dialed him on accident for a troubled teen or something. "I—I don't believe you. Who would have my number?" The other men (in various stages of drinking) all sat up with adrenaline in their veins. Or alcohol.

The sweet sounding woman spoke away from the receiver and gently pleaded, "Sweetie, I have someone on the phone to come get you. Could you speak to him for a second, please?"

"Is it Arthur?"

Arthur knew that voice. And it was impossibly, miraculously, without a doubt Ariadne's. He sobered (and stood) up in a flash. His dice rolled and reality confirmed. His hope built, a smile formed.

"Yes, Ariadne, it is." Christa softly replied. Arthur couldn't keep the joy down. The relief. He imagined the woman handing the receiver to Ariadne. The Architect sitting up, eager to speak to him. He wasn't patient enough to wait for her to say hello, he blurted, "Ari?" At that, the rest of team froze flabbergasted and stood exchanging baffled, excited, open mouthed gapes. "Ari, Baby—"

Ariadne cut Arthur off. Not in speaking to him but in speaking to Christa. He realized she had not taken the phone. That the breaths he heard were not hers but the older woman's waiting for the Architect's reply. Her answer is distant, firm, "No."

"She doesn't feel like talking…I'm sure that would change if she saw you."

Arthur pulled out a pen, "What's the address?"

Xxxxxx

Tada! I'd love to hear if I had you guessing whether she was really dead until the Maus' came in.  
**NEXT CHAPTER: THE LONG AWAITED REUNION OF ARTHUR AND ARIADNE! Weee! And an inconvenient slip-up.  
**Guesses about the slip-up? How would you like Arthur and Ariadne to react when they see each other for the first time? Or how do you think they will? Please review! Reviews=quicker update.


	13. Remind Me

I….really like the end of this chapter. But read the whole thing.

Thank you's! _Nina.4444: _Yes, I too wanted their reactions to a dead Ariadne but...we've got more story to go and I'd like to have some face to face A/A, am I right? Haha. _Lauraa-x: _YES. That is exactly what I was going for. The whole getting answers but still not freaking finding out if she's dead or not. And don't worry, we're not done with Mila and Grant yet ;). (Well for now we are cause it's A/A time. Woo!) _CoffeeFilters: _Thanks for reviewing the two chapters! Don't sweat about staying away at first, I guessed some people would with the trigger warning and all. And ahhhh, I love that myth too. Toying with emotions is what I aim to do, lol, so thank you so much! I hope you like this chappie too. _Musicismyheroine: _YAY! I'm glad I made you happy! I really didn't want Ariadne to die either. Yet. *cough* what? The reunion…well you'll see.

Thank you to the new story followers: _CoffeeFilters _and _Kamiragem_ =)

**Chapter 13: Remind Me.**

"Look, I know we all want to believe this woman…" Cobb stood in the middle of the living room with Arthur at his side. Eames and Yusuf sat on the edge of their chairs. The Point and the Forger had been gung ho to hop in the car and find the address Mrs. Maus had given them but the Extractor and Chemist were more reluctant to do so. "But this could be a trap."

"I know her voice, Cobb, and I heard it plain as day."

"Voices can be recorded," mumbled Yusuf. He wisely kept his eyes downcast. He was sure Arthur gave him a look to kill, good thing he couldn't see it.

Arthur picked up his glass of scotch and took a swig, "Well, what are you suggesting we do?" Then sarcastic, he pointedly jabbed, "Would you like me wait and see what happens again?"

Dom held his hands above his head in surrender, "I'm behind you 110% on whatever you want. All I'm saying is we shouldn't get our hopes up or let our guards down. Especially simultaneously."  
xxxxxx

It was a modest looking, one story, grey house. The lawn was fresh cut even though the grass was more brown than green. All the windows had the blinds closed except for the one on the side of the house by the driveway. The team parked on the street in front of next door and walked in a close knit huddle with their hands resting on their firearms. After the incident at the hotel, they really couldn't trust anyone. It was Arthur who was contacted; so it was Arthur who bounded up the short stairs to the porch and rapped his knuckles against the door. Eames surveyed their surroundings while they waited for answer. The door was the only splash of color on the dim property and even it was painted a dark forest green and chipped at the corners. The wooden boards below their feet creaked with each shift of their collective weight and the couple's wicker porch swing hung limply to their right. The cushions were once a bright, tropical floral pattern that Eames would've donned had it been printed on a shirt. Now, they were dank and dusted with a mixture of dirt and pollen. If it weren't for the Cadillac and Ford pickup in the driveway, the Forger would swear the house had been abandoned. Arthur knocked again. The Englishman swiveled around at a passing car but as it took no note of them, he returned his attention to the door (which seemed to open instantaneously when he looked at it).

Greeting them was a plump shorty in a linen pant suit. Her hair appeared light blonde but the stray strands of grey were a tattle tale sign that she colored it. (Not often.) It was short, framed her face and the wrinkles by her eyes only made her smile at them seem sweeter. "Arthur, I hope?"

"Yes." Arthur stood straighter (if that was possible) and pulled his wallet from his back pocket, "Do you need a form of identification?"

"Oh, no. I, um," the woman stuttered and her hands gripped her chest, "I know it was nosy of me but I flipped through her picture album…" She nervously chuckled but opened the door wider, "Come in, come in." She wasn't expecting so many men to file into her house…much less very nicely dressed ones with guns in their waistbands. "Oh my…" she seemed overwhelmed by it all, staring straight at the butt of the gun hanging out of Eames' holster. The aforementioned was the last one in so he shut the door behind him. For as deserted and dumpy as their abode looked from the outside, you would never have guessed the inside would feel so cozy and alive. There was rich cherry wood doorframes and furniture. A bunch of clutter, several photos varying in age of one man and others of a golden retriever. The Forger peeked around into the living and saw that the couple collected seashells…several vases lined every flat surface. To each their own, he guessed.

Arthur's mind had been jumbled all morning. Dom sensed it was due to his anticipation. The Point Man skipped breakfast, already dressed and ready to go when the Extractor shuffled in for coffee at four that morning. It was in the little things, he could tell Arthur was still shaken up. Like the fact that he had to alert Arthur (because the poor thing hadn't realized) that he had put on his black vest and jacket with his grey suit pants. A thing Arthur would never in a million years do on purpose. And like the fact that he forgot to gel his hair until they were in the car and when they told him it looked fine without it, he got upset and argued. Said that he needed to look his best, his cleanest, or Ariadne wouldn't recognize him. If he didn't look upstanding enough, the couple wouldn't allow him to see her. Then at lunch, he was suddenly hungry for breakfast. They popped off the interstate to drive through somewhere but he refused the food he said he was hungry for. He got a coffee with three creamers and two sugars and Arthur only ever drank it black. So when Arthur scanned the hallways and poked his head into the adjacent rooms like Ariadne would be chilling on the couch in one of them or when he stuttered when he addressed Christa—though uncharacteristic—was not surprising for the team. "I—uh," his hands fidgeted and went into his jacket pocket before pulling out an envelope. "I would like thank you for finding her and contacting me."

Christa opened the envelope expecting a card but sucked in a huge breath when it turned out to be a check for five hundred grand. The Point Man needlessly defended, "I would've given you more but the authorities might've thought you'd dipped into drug-dealing. This is the most you could get out of selling a new car, so, I figured that was safe." She shook her head and held it back out to him, "We didn't do it for money. I can't accept this much…"

Arthur seemed a little back to himself when he guided the envelope and her hand back to her, "Please. She's worth way more than that. I'm happy to give it."

Awkwardly, Christa placed the envelope on the table in the foyer and grinned softly at them, "She's this way…" The ball of good intended anxiety led them passed her grand, cluttered living room, through her linoleum floored, black and white kitchen, and down a green carpeted hall to a door at the end. Yusuf and Eames opted to stay out in the hallway for two reasons. One: they didn't want to crowd her room. Two: So they could keep a look out just in case. Christa paused before opening the door and whispered, "We couldn't get her to tell us what had happened…but the dear seems very traumatized, very introverted. She cowers at the slightest sound and she insists on wearing this red cloak. She _will not _take it off. She goes into a panic attack if we try...Earlier this morning, I thought she was hot so I took it off while she was sleeping and she nearly made herself sick." Arthur nodded grimly and made a mental note. "And our son Jeff—he's a doctor—he took a look at her last night…" The kind stranger's face darkened and teared up, "She's had a miscarriage."

Though Arthur wasn't thrilled she'd gotten pregnant by a rapist, he would've never wished the burden and grief of a miscarriage on Ariadne. Losing any baby was tough. Cobb and Mal knew (that's why the Extractor sighed and rubbed his face)…they had lost one before Philippa. Arthur closed his eyes and grabbed his forehead. He felt the supportive hand of his best friend on his back, "You ready?" Yes, he was. He steeled himself, tried to mentally prepare for what he might see (though it couldn't be worse than the half chewed body he believed was hers) and Christa opened the door. She was huddled real small on a honey colored bed, her head hung down as a tall, buff man in blue scrubs pulled a thermometer from the dark hole created by her Hood. "Jeff…" Christa lightly and quietly tiptoed in and addressed her son, "Arthur is here. Let's give them a moment." The man eyed the Point, nodded as his mother and suggested, "Don't make too much noise" as they padded out and closed the door.

As soon as Ariadne had sensed another presence in the room she pulled her knees to her chest and dropped her head lower. Yellowed skin. That was first thing he noticed about her. The closer he came the tighter she coiled into herself and tried to disappear into the headboard. She'd turned so that her side pressed against it and her face could be hidden. "Ari? It's me, Arthur." He wanted to leap across the room but instead approached her like you would a frightened deer with his voice low and soothing so as not to startle her. His eyes caught the tension in her muscles when he'd said his name and with despondency watched her turn more towards the back. Not wanting to make her feel any more intimidated, he crouched down the closer he came until he was kneeling beside her bedside, where she could look down at him. There was still speculation on whether this was Ariadne or not. But how couldn't it be? He knew her form. He knew her mannerisms. But then again how _could _it be her? This figure was deathly afraid of him…

Her knuckles went white, tightening her hold on her knees like she could glue them to her chest if she pressed hard enough. Underneath her fingernails, there rested dirt and dried blood. The wrist he could see was lined with train track looking marks…rope burn. Skin chaffing and raw. From far away the indentions would look like bracelets. No shoes…her feet could've been no dirtier if she'd bathed in mud and anklets of rope burn adorned them too; Ariadne wrung her feet together as she pushed further away from him. "Ariadne, can you look at me?" In answer, her head collided with her knees, her face fully covered by the protection of them and her trusty hood. Bruises on her thighs. Her fists had slipped when her face hid and her borrowed nightgown had risen up her legs. From her knee up were blotches of deep violet, blue and then yellowish green dancing on her limbs. What angered Arthur more were the finger print sized circles and the fingernail indentations. The wind in his lungs raged, battered against his ribcage and created a turmoil like a hurricane in him. He exhaled slowly and pushed it down, he couldn't sound angry when he talked to her. Again, he requested, "Ari…let me see your face. Please?" A shaky hand ran up her head to the edge of her hood. The Architect's head raised, but she didn't take the hood off. She gripped it tight and pulled it back to reveal part of her face. Hesitantly, the rest of it followed when she turned her head and met his eyes.

_It was her._ But the relief and happiness that should've flooded his system didn't come.

Bloodshot. Yellowish. Sunken in at the sockets. Her left eye had remnants of a black one…in the last stages of healing. Arthur's heart dropped with the fresh water droplets on her eyelashes. After a blink, her eyes averted to the floor in front of her. Like she was embarrassed, ashamed for him to look at her. Her lips: swollen. The bottom one split in the corner. When The Point reached out to her, she flinched. So he didn't caress her like he'd intended. Arthur so wanted to pull her into him and block the rest of the cruel world out. He yearned to hold her and make her feel safe again. Instead, he pulled back the hood at the nape of her neck…more fingerprints. More red circles up and down her neck. Bite marks on her collar bone. The storm in his body wouldn't be put off any longer. Only when Ariadne jumped, did he realize he'd done something to cause it and that something was the low growl resonating from his chest. He swallowed, relaxing his muscles only to have them tense again. His breathing picked up. So much air rushing in and out at once. Head roll, shoulder rolls; he tried to loosen up. Failed miserably. He was upsetting the girl. Ariadne thought the temper was aimed at her and whimpered. His eyes were steel when she looked into them and he didn't mean them for her but they wouldn't soften, not when he only saw black and blue as he returned her gaze. Arthur's jaw had been clamped shut, his teeth grinded on top of each other. Numerous were the attempts to slacken it so his mouth could open and he could reassure her. Finally, he pried them open far enough to mumble, "Wait until I get my hands on him…" His nose was flaring and he nearly shook with anger. Cobb knelt beside him and pulled at his shoulder to make him pull away from her. He'd forgotten the Extractor had even existed much less entered the room with him, "Arthur, go outside for a minute."

The Point wrestled out of Cobb's grasp and continued to run his eyes over her, incensed. "I'll kill them for this! They'll all die for this!" Ariadne glanced at Cobb when he spoke and jerked to hide her face from them again. Gradually, she began heaving and her fingers danced over her hooded head frantically.

"Arthur, you're upsetting her. You need to go out and calm yourself down." He pulled Arthur from the room and shut her door soundlessly.

Xxxxxx

_He ushers her into the hotel room and chains the lock. His phone beeps; he lifts it to check. Then he hightails it to the window and pulls the curtains closed. "Ok. We should be fine. Brooks and Yusuf just checked in. Yusuf's clear…Brooks thinks he might have a tail but at least that means we shouldn't have one." Ariadne nods but its indifferent like she's not really listening. "I'm going to take a shower."_

_She takes forty-eight minutes in the bathroom. And eighteen of those minutes are after the actual water is turned off. When she comes out, she doesn't exactly look better. She, in honesty, looks worse. Arthur looks up from his spot on the bed. The tv guide is scrolling down the screen and the volume is low. He's mostly switching around passports and ids in their wallets and making sure all the names match. Its stressful but they've done this before. Ducking out and disappearing is normal for them and Arthur's too good at it for either of them to worry too much. Still, he makes sure he smiles reassuringly, "I ordered us some room service. Thought you might be hungry."_

_Again The Architect simply nods. She goes to the desk and chair in the corner of the room and pulls her backpack on top of it (with her left arm only). Something is bothering her and he can't tell what. She's been introverted since the ride to the airport…taken several long trips to the bathroom…perhaps she just wasn't feeling good. Stomach bug or something. Arthur puts his current task away for the moment and lightheartedly heads up a conversation, "We're pretty slick. Considering the rain of gunfire we had to dodge to get out of there, I'm shocked they only clipped Brooks' ear." He added with a chuckle, "And he cried like a baby over it, too." Ariadne twists back over her shoulder and forces a hiccup of a laugh, "Yeah…" and goes back to rifling (with one hand) for something.  
_xxxxxx

"You need to try to relax for her." Arthur huffed and puffed, hazarded a glance at his concerned colleagues Yusuf and Eames. He ignored their looks of inquiry and only halfway listened to Cobb shoving his words into his ear. "It's a shock. It's upsetting. I get it. But think about this: _That _is _Ariadne. _She's _alive, _she's _with us_,she's fine."

"She is _not_ fine!" bellowed Arthur back at him. He was sick of Cobb always minimizing everything about Ariadne. "Look at her! She looks like their personal chew toy!"

Cobb hissed and pointed to her door, "Lower your voice." Ariadne's self-esteem and value was no doubt stripped by those people and while Arthur didn't mean anything by it but detestation for the Hoods, it would only make Ariadne pull away from him more.

Arthur felt his heart constricting, "She heard my name and shut down like a clam. When she heard my voice, she physically coiled away…" Dom had no clue how to respond. He met Yusuf's eyes grimly. They had a talk about it while Arthur was loading the car. How Ariadne wouldn't jump into Arthur's arms like he expected her to. She might've if they'd gotten to her earlier but that wasn't the case. "She's upset with me_._"

He grabbed the Point's shoulders, "No, she's afraid."

"Of _me_?"

"Of everything."

The Point verbally beat himself up for the way she'd been treated. He let himself fall back into the wall and work to loosen his tie, "I should've never left her. And I should've seen the signs sooner."

"…You couldn't have known." Eames reasoned with him. "They fooled everyone."

"I'm not everyone." Arthur poked his own chest sharply, "_I'm_ supposed to be her knight in shining armor. I was supposed to swoop in before they could hurt her."

"Well swoop in now…" Cobb patted his shoulder, "and be the presence she needs."

Yusuf added solemnly, "She's seen enough loud and angry men."

Arthur was sure to be nothing but noiseless and gentle the next time he went back in. But before that could happen, the group of men was called to the kitchen to talk with Jeff. Harold was the only one who sat at the table. Christa was too interested not to be involved in the conversation and the men were too amped up on adrenaline and trepidation to sit. Jeff spoke mostly to Arthur using hand gestures to get his point across but would occasionally look at the other men as he explained. "There are definitely signs of severe physical and sexual assault." Her team showed they disapproved of that in an assortment of sounds, looks, and minimal movement. "And I don't know if my mother informed you of the miscarriage—"

"Yes she did." It was Cobb who answered.

Sighing, Jeff pulled a seat from the table and turned it around to sit on it backwards, "It was not natural." He offered the pause for question but got none, "The blood and amniotic fluid that passed was not in the volume it should've been and it came _after _the fetus. When I examined further, I found punctures and abrasions around her cervix…" Eames patted Arthur's back when the Point sucked in a huge breath.

Yusuf interjected his own theory, "So…you believe it was—what, an abortion?"

"Precisely. A forced one. There are signs of struggle."

Several car doors and excitable voices created an interlude to the meeting. "You weren't expecting anyone, were you Chris?" Harold excused himself from the kitchen and padded down to the living room to look out the blinds. His wife called after him, "No, I called the girls and canceled Bridge Club." Harold hurried back into the kitchen, breathless, "Did you tell them why? Because there are news crews all over our front lawn."

Jeff gawped, "Mother!"

Arthur took it upon himself to march into their living area and have a look. Sure enough Channel 3, Channel 5, 10 and 15 were all outside on the lawn setting up equipment and mics. "No, no, no," he appeared in the kitchen. The rest of them ogled he and Christa expectantly. Arthur spoke to his team, the Maus family merely overheard, "We've got to get her out of here. I guarantee the only reason they let her go was because they thought she was dead. If her face gets plastered all over tv and they find out she's alive…they're going to come after her and they've got a straight address."  
xxxxxx

_Uneasy now, Arthur pushes off the bed and goes to stand behind her. He runs his hand down her arm to her wrist—she flinches and sucks in a breath. "You ok?" Her third consecutive series of nods enter the picture again. Ariadne tries to discreetly pull out some antiseptic cream from the bottom of her bag. "Are you sure?" There's skepticism lingering in his question but he slides his hands around her waist and—"Sssss—Agh…Yes. Yeah, I'm fine." No. Ariadne's grimacing and trying to pass it off as a smile. Arthur suspects she's trying to conceal a wound now and lifts up the right side of her sweatshirt. _

_There's a wet crimson bandage covering the expanse of the skin he can see but before he can assess the entirety of it he needs to push her sweatshirt up more and her arm is in the way. So he moves it. "Agh—oh!" She's looking at him guiltily through the pain and he's looking at her incredulously. Not only was she keeping one injury from him but two. "Ari…take your sweatshirt off…" It's a zip up. So she hesitantly unzips it with her left hand, pulls that side off first and then lets him pull the other side off which leaves her in her sports bra and make-shift bandages. He's horrified and she's pissed he found out. The Point neatly tears off her waist bandage first and there's a nasty gash where a bullet clipped her side. Next, he unties the torn piece of shirt she tried to knot under her armpit and over her shoulder. There's still a shard of bullet left in it and it's oozing blood and something else. "Ariadne…" he starts and then drops it to grab his first aid kit. He guides her back to sit on the edge of the bed and starts in, "I think I can keep it from scarring. It's been like this since Budapest and you didn't tell me?" Hurriedly, he's using the tweezers to pull the metal out and rubbing anti-infection cream on her wounds. She shrugs (with the left shoulder only), "We were trying to skip continents. I didn't think it was relevant."  
_xxxxxx

Arthur padded into her room and tried not to let the alacrity he felt show. She looked as if she hadn't moved an inch or batted an eyelash. Once more he kneeled on the side of the bed she was closest to, "Ariadne?" She didn't respond. He spoke anyway, "I've been very worried about you…but I let the stress show in an unnecessary way earlier, I'm sorry. It wasn't aimed at you, Sweetheart, still I should not have raised my voice." Like a magnet, his hand sought hers. And like a reversed magnet, she repelled away from him. "I'm won't hurt you…" He assured. Arthur browsed her room. The rickety ceiling fan above them, the white (ish) carpet, the one window and the sickened fly that fidgeted around between it and the venetian blinds. "Would you like to come with me, Cobb, Eames and Yusuf?"

His question did the trick. Her head snapped to look at him. The shadow of her Hood was cast over the majority of her face but he could see she was chewing through her already ripped through lip and making it bleed again. "We've got to get to a safe house. And to keep you away from the Hoods, we need to bring you with us." He proposed, "would you let us do that?" In response, Ariadne blinked at her twiddling fingers and then nodded at him. "Well, we need to leave now."

He held his hands out for her to grab and use to maneuver around but she left them hanging there. She used her nails and her hands to push against the mattress but the minute shift of movement caused her new injuries between her legs to release agonizing pain. On top of that, her body was too spent and sore from the extensive toll on her body the P.O.W drug had taken. Without thinking, his body naturally scooped her up like a bride. Ariadne would not touch him. She allowed him to hold her but in lieu of wrapping her arms around his neck, they awkwardly folded on her stomach as he carried her down the hall and to the back door. Eames and Yusuf smiled reassuringly as they passed but she turned her head away from them. From there the team waited until the top of the hour—when the news crews were on camera—to sneak out the back of the house into the neighbor's yard and then got into their car by crossing their lawn as if they came from the house over.

Xxxxxx

"_When did this happen?" He's throwing away empty wrappings and tucking away the kit after helping her get a t-shirt on. Ariadne does her best to scoot back to the headboard. It's bad timing too but the food comes and Arthur rushes the trays in and the bellboy away. She's hopes he's forgotten and the hopes are dashed when he raises his eyebrows and waits for an answer. The Architect realizes that he's going to keep her food hostage until she replies. "Budapest." She reiterates. "Did your slight coronary affect your short term memory?"_

"_No. I mean exactly when. What moment? What were you doing?" His arms fold across his chest. And she knows what's coming, "You mean where were _you_?" She caught him. He wants an answer but she brushes it off… "It's not a big deal."_

_He looks at the food on the desk. It's not even appetizing anymore. "It happened when I went back inside to get Jarvis. Didn't it?" Ariadne knows he's not mad at her. She knows all too well that he's mad at himself. His eyes are a thin line, his chin is jutting out and he's shaking his head. "He's our employer. It wouldn't have been a smart move to let him bite the dust," the girl reasons with him and holds her hand out for her bowl of pasta. He hands it to her but he mumbles gruffly at himself, "I could've done without the money. I couldn't do without you…"_

xxxxxx

Eames drove this time with Cobb in the passenger. They didn't think it would be wise for them to squish Ariadne between two men so they let her have a window seat. Arthur sat in the middle and Yusuf on the far side. Yusuf sat on the border of his seat and leaned forward to watch her around the Point. He hadn't gotten to see her until now since he and Eames thoughtfully stayed in the hallway. She (oddly) didn't seem thrilled with being rescued or that the Inception Team were the ones doing the rescuing. Then again, if Yusuf contemplated it, the reality was that they'd been reacquainted with her by chance. They didn't ride in gallantly in their rental van, storm the Hood's hideaway and pull her out. They got a call from an old couple and followed a gps to the address. Someone else (who knows. Maybe Ariadne herself) had liberated her. Cobb, Yusuf, Arthur and Eames had only collected.

It was (still is) common in the Middle East for women to be punished if they were raped. It was also something our Chemist believed (still does) unfair despite the strict traditional dogmas beat into his brain from an early age. It happened more than the families back home would care to admit (it happened in Mombasa too. It happens everywhere.) His own cousin had been a victim. And since Yusuf was a softie (still is) and he and Raja were around the same age and had grown up best friends…she came and revealed it to him. He'd noticed some early signs of pregnancy that others hadn't yet. Raja explained why she'd been so stand-offish to him and his brother. To his father, her father, her brothers, any male in general. They terrified her because they reminded her of that man. And her violator had been someone she knew…so she was afraid anyone she knew was capable. She'd confessed that she was robbed of her trust for anybody. She felt ashamed even though it wasn't her fault. She knew she was "soiled" and begged him to believe that she had refused. _He _did. But she could no longer hide her condition…her brothers were outraged. They killed her for disgracing the family and he was never allowed to talk about Raja again. He had an idea who her rapist was but never confronted him other than suspicious glares at the local school or market. Based on the little she'd vented to him about her misery in her months of secrets and silent agony…Yusuf deduced Ariadne had similar reasons or feelings and that is why she shied away from them. Raja said she was able to tell Yusuf because she knew it would not incense him, that he would not be rough and angry or loud. So he kept that in mind around their Architect. He was naturally mild in manner but made a point of it in the short period he'd been in her company. Arthur watched her every move like a hawk; Yusuf hoped that wouldn't have an adverse effect.

What was wrong with her? She was the one who called him for help for heaven's sake. Had she not been wishing he would show up and take her away from it all? When Christa and Harold had hauled her into their car and brought her home to be looked at by their doctor son, she'd been mostly out of it and things still felt fuzzy. And she'd heard Christa talking to Arthur…she knew he would be coming for her…but her instincts made her withdraw from him when he walked in. Ariadne was too filthy to look at. Too soiled to be touched. Especially by Arthur and all his purity, his flawlessness. She was mortified that he should see all the marks left on her by Wolffe. The evidence of what he'd done to her. What he might discern that she'd done to him too…It was all against her will but she'd still done it. The Architect figured that is why he threw a fit the first time he laid eyes on her poor, degraded frame. _He knew. _And he hated her for it. Arthur was sitting beside her, she could see his reflection in the window she leaned her head against. This was all wrong…Ariadne thought while she pulled the cloak tighter around her. 'Home is where the heart is.' Arthur had her heart (or he'd had it once before and she certainly wasn't in possession of it presently). The Point Man (_her _Point Man—everyone in the Woods called him that) was keeping it safe at home with him. There he was and she should feel home. She should feel at ease and cozy and like she was nestled into a plush sofa in front of a fireplace with the sounds of Edith Piaf lulling her into much needed sleep. He'd come to return her heart to her.

Maybe she couldn't get it back. Maybe she'd grown too sinful to house it. Ariadne gave it up to survive; Ariadne gave up _everything_ to survive. Most likely, she was too unworthy of the heart she used to own. She was too unworthy of anything but misery and guilt and pain. _'You get what you deserve.'_ Well, those were all she'd gotten so she must deserve them. Could she shrink even smaller? Could she disintegrate herself into a crawling insect and escape this humiliation?  
xxxxxx

_Full to the brim now. The lights from the tv are flashing and flickering on their faces in the dark. Their watching some old reruns of a tele-novella because it's all they can find at midnight in Spain that has the option of English subtitles. Arthur's been quiet. Ariadne pulls her legs under her in Indian style and faces him after she mutes the tv. The Point gives her the attention she clearly wants. "You know I love you…but I think it's stupid when you act like this over things that happen to me. You can't be upset over something you can't prevent."_

"_That's why I get upset. I can't prevent it. That pisses me off." He kicks the covers off with his feet. "If they were able to get your shoulder and your side—they could've gotten your kidneys, they could've shot something vital—"_

"_You really like playing the 'Could've Game,' don't you?" Arthur sighs, irritated, and turns to fake interest in the television. "Sure something _could _happen but before it does you need to enjoy the present. You're going to waste all of our time when things are ok fussing about when it might not be. Just be happy with me…"She leans over and playfully kisses his jaw which never fails to make Arthur grin, even now. "It's not as hard as you make it."_

_The Points returns her gaze apologetically and weaves his hand with her good one. "I'll try." _

"_That's my boy." Ariadne rewards him with a kiss on the lips and goes back to leaning against her pillow at the head of the bed thinking the conversation is over. He can't help but explain himself, "It's only hard because—" She tilts her head at him, surprised he's still going. "—I know this business inside out. I know the consequences. Everyone I've ever known in Dream Share has suffered them. Everyone. Even Miles, he's just fortunate enough he's able to conceal it. And I know you want to stay in this business so therefore I know, without a doubt, that one day you're going to come home to me beyond repair. If you even come home at all."_

xxxxxx

He'd been standing in front of Ariadne for ten minutes before she drifted out of the cloud of her thoughts and realized the car had stopped moving...That she wasn't watching gravel and greenery smudge together as it passed by her window; she was instead staring at Arthur who was leant against the open car door. Her muddled brown eyes unglazed and focused on him in a flicker. There was no sense of urgency, no rush. Arthur stood and patiently waited for her to be ready. Ready for…she hadn't processed that far yet. **POP.** Loud noise. Loud noises were never good things. Someone was furious. They were infuriated with her. She was fixing to feel the wrath of faceless monsters and an always-hungry hound. Ariadne clutched her hood and threw her upper body to the seat beside her to hide her face.

"Yusuf." Grumbled the Point lowly.

The former held his hands up in surrender, "I'm sorry…I had to close the trunk…" As he passed the open door he apologized to her and reminded they were here to help.

When she peeked out of the fabric, Arthur was standing in the same spot and holding his hand out. Prior to accepting it, Ariadne took a cursory glance through the windshield. What she saw was not favorable: A dimly lit, dusty shrimp-colored motel. The building was two stories and the doors to the rooms faced the outside. The upper levels were fenced in with black iron railing, most of it rusted. There was a door open in front of them with one light shining from the corner inside. Two figures bustled around in it and one—the scruffy one—Eames was posed out by the door looking in at her. Oh no. No no no. That didn't look like the safe house she was guaranteed! Ariadne wasn't about to willingly step foot into another shady box full of males. Her next glare at Arthur was thick with dread. But placid was the word to describe his nature, "We're halfway to the safe house. We're just stopping for the night…" She refused to move. "You'll have your own bed, I promise. No one will touch you. I'll sit on the floor by you with a flashlight and a gun if you want." The Architect's head shook vigorously and her fingertips dug into the plush bottom of the seat. They didn't loosen until she heard the scuffs of his shoes on the concrete.

She watched him traipse into the motel (he stopped in front of Eames and exchanged some words) when he came back with things in his hand, she veiled her face yet again. Arthur's footsteps came closer and closer and she knew he was standing in the same spot again. First, she felt a warm fleece throw spread out over her from her chin to well past her toes. Then, the door by her feet closed and another car door opened. Courageous enough to uncover what he was doing, she snuck another glance. The Point was moving the passenger seat back and had positioned a pillow on the console. He caught her eye, "We can stay the night in the car if you're more comfortable here." Arthur smiled and handed her a pillow. Outside the window, The Forger strode inside the building and left them be.  
xxxxxx

_She opens her mouth to say something but he won't let her interrupt. Not until he's made a full case for himself. "And I just—I love you. So much. You know that…and when things like this happen, the reality that I will lose you at some point—maybe in fifty years to old age or maybe tomorrow to a bullet—hits brutally hard. I'm reminded that I'm powerless to stop it."_

"_Arthur," Ariadne squeezes his hand, "I'm scared of all those things too."_

"_No, you don't understand. I _can't _fathom—" he grits._

_The tiny Parisian is overwhelmed by how deep the conversation is turning but pulls her hand out of his to pull on his neck and make him focus on what she's fixing to say. She's back to her cross legged position, facing him straight on, "You don't have to try because I _will _come back. I'll _always _come back to you. And you'll come back to me."_

"_But how? In what condition-"  
_xxxxxx

It took a bit but Ariadne had assented and accepted the pillow and then fell into a slumber sometime after. Arthur's limbs were obviously too long for the space he was crammed in. He didn't mind. He rested on his side with one arm under his head (he'd taken his suit jacket off when he got too hot) and watched her. Heart aching. The Hoods didn't know who they were dealing with. It could be that Ingams _had_ pulled one over on them…Maybe they _had_ studied Ariadne and the Team while they were waiting to make their move. Perhaps they knew several facts about them: their schedules, certain mannerisms, habits. Undoubtedly their leader—or whatever he (it) was—thought he was a big shot, some god. But those Hoods didn't know squat about them. They didn't know squat about anything at all or the lot of them wouldn't have messed with Arthur and his Team. The Hoods were incapable of comprehending the compassion he had for her. Of understanding whathe would do to find her, protect her, to avenge her. Arthur was no forgiving man when damage to the Architect was done.

It hurt him to see her in that condition. When she would move in her sleep, Arthur would wince with her. He felt the same black and blue. Every strike she'd faced, every blow she'd taken…he sensed them on his own skin. If he could transfer all of her agony to his body, he would do it in a heartbeat. He would strike a deal with the devil if he had to. If he could physically peel off each scrape and circle of purple and paste them on _his _legs, on _his _neck, _his _arms and feet and cheeks and stomach there would be no question about doing it. Could he smooth away the pain and distress by smoothing down her hair? He wanted to try but he had a feeling she would not let him. It would alienate her more. The Point felt helpless. He just wanted to scoop her up and make her forget. Or make her remember… He knew this day would come. It was inevitable that she would come back to him broken, lost, and forgotten.  
xxxxxx

"_It doesn't matter."_

_The water building in his eyes is making water fill up hers. He asks dubiously, "How can it not matter?"_

_She says the words before she comprehends whose words they really are. It scares her a fraction but they're too true not to use. "Because we'll be together." Ariadne winces when she picks her injured arm up and slings it over his waist. The split-second hair raising twinge in her shoulder is worth it when she lays her head on his chest and emits comfort to him while absorbing it for herself. "Cobb's projection of Mal…she asked me once if I knew what it was like to be a lover. To be half of a whole. You know what that means?" He's careful not to tug on her arm or rest his hand on the tender patch on her side but gathers her into him all the same and rests his chin on the top of her head._

"_That you're my other half? If I lose you, I'll be incomplete."_

"_No. I think it means we're a part of each other. I don't think we're each a half…but split in half ourselves. That a large part of me now belongs to you. And part of you belongs to me. We're each wholes and somehow, we're together, always…I'll come back. I promise. You own me."_

"_What if you're completely broken when you come back?"_

"_You'll fix me," murmurs Ariadne into his undershirt._

"_What if you're lost?"_

"_You'll find me. No matter where I am; you told me that once." She begins doodling flowers and pirate ships on his arm with her index finger._

"_What if you forget who you are? Who I am? Everything we mean to each other, everything I'd do for you? Everything you just said to me—what if you come back and the part of me that was yours has been erased?" Ariadne places a light kiss on his peck through the thin material of his shirt and whispers while he fiddles with her curls._

"_You'll remind me."  
_Xxxxxx

**Next Chapter: Arrival at the safe-house. Ariadne sees her reflection for the first time since the Woods. Annnnd a worrisome discovery having to do with her health. **Guesses on that? I love guesses. Review and ye shall receive. Lol.


	14. Gorgeous Girl

Sorry it took me longer to update this time…we had a death in the family last weekend, so all last week and this weekend were a little tough. Writing helps me escape though, so that's nice.

BIG THANKS, to my few reasons to smile since the news: **nowarning23: **omg, me too. The more angsty/depressing/tragic the better. That's why I love your story! It will get semi cheerier eventually, yes. I'm not sure how many chapters exactly. I know we're about at the halfway mark. I combined several chapters in the beginning to condense it down and it was about thirty two or something before I condensed…but I don't think it'll be longer than thirty, if thirty. Maybe twenty six or something? **Lauraa-x: **I know right? And Arthur literally gets easier to love as we go. He has his problems but he's so self-sacrificing for her. Even considering, she broke his heart by wanting dreamshare more, they broke up, she did the dangerous thing he warned her not to anyway and is incapable of opening up to him now…The flashbacks are fun to write cause we get a little relief and snippets of happy and healthy Ariadne and the two of them together again. =( **musicismyheroine: **not too far-fetched…but—agh, well you'll see. I'm glad you liked the way she reacted! You'll probably like this then. Fingers crossed. **CoffeeFilters: **Ahh the flashbacks give us a little happy in the midst of all the sad…but then again, the irony in all of them makes the sad sorta sadder. Poor Arthur. Thanks for reviewing!

Special Thanks to **HelsoJediShade66 **for becoming a story follower!

**Chapter 14: Gorgeous Girl**

Rain. _What was it about the rain that could have her so distraught?_ Cobb wondered. It was Yusuf's turn to drive that day and Dom demanded he sit in the back with Arthur (who demanded he sit in the back with Ariadne). Eames was asleep against the window in passenger. Cobb fiddled with his phone trying to text an update to Miles and Arthur—well you could guess what he was doing. It was a clear and sunny day when they left the motel. Not a cloud in the sky, the air dry as a bone. An hour from the safe house they entered dark clouded territory and it was like the sky opened up and deluged them. The first few drops, she was fine with. It was when the pitter patter turned into clacking and pounding and when she could see nothing but blurs through the windows and windshield that something triggered.

Her seatbelt flew off. Arthur almost protested when Cobb tugged at his arm. After reasoning with himself, he did agree that physically picking her up, forcing her into the seat and restraining her with the belt wouldn't put him any further on her good side. He bit his tongue and observed as Ariadne sat in the floorboard in a ball, raked the material of the cloak over her eyes and gasped for deep breath like she was drowning. Drowning in the water droplets outside that couldn't touch her. Droplets she felt nonetheless. "99, 98, 97—please it's hot, 96, 95." The Chemist, white knuckling the steering wheel in the weather, risked a concerned look in the rearview mirror at Dom. Arthur's head slowly rotated to Cobb's warily. He mouthed, "Do you think she was water boarded?" The Point Man knew the agony of that feeling like the back of his hand. Some time ago he and Cobb were captured by an old mark and held for torture until their architect came to retrieve them. Dominic's personal forms of torture were whippings. Arthur's was waterboarding. The feeling of drowning, the burning in your lungs, water everywhere, the welcoming feeling of unconsciousness only to be revived and drowned all over again. If they had done it to her…

No. Ariadne hadn't been water boarded. However she was cleaned weekly. A process in which Wolffe would dump her into his adjoining facilities room and spray her with scalding water. The pressure was hard, like she was being jabbed with pencils and it was everywhere. The Architect would curl on the ground to protect her face and frontward portion of her body, pull her hair over her eyes and count down. All there was to hear was the clacking and pounding of the ribbons of water and all there was to see were blurs. Running into her eyes, her nose, her mouth. Next thing Ariadne knew (several countdowns later) the vehicle stopped and the rain got louder as she realized the door by her had opened. She got up into the seat then.

Arthur was standing with Dom behind him, ducking his head just under the roof of the car. Eames and Yusuf were slushing through the grass and mud to grab every bag they could and get in inside. The Chemist shoved his and Eames' computers (the others' were closed in bags) under his shirt and the Englishman stuffed the PASIV into his jacket to keep the equipment from getting wet. The Architect perused through the window opposite Arthur and laid eyes on what she deduced was the safe house. It looked like a cabin without the logs but with dark wood planks, a maroon roof and a rustic looking porch. All the shutters and blinds were closed because it was still empty. It looked abandoned but like a safe haven. It had the potential to feel the cozy, fireplace owning, home that her heart was supposed to bring to her when she was reunited with it. Still no progress on that though. Ariadne trusted the house even if her trust in the Team was askew but there was no way she was getting showered on. The Point Man held out his arms, "I'll carry you inside, Ariadne, you don't have to walk." Ariadne shook her head profusely—it was awkward and uncomfortable enough the first time he carried her. He and Cobb persisted, their bodies taking the beating from the rainclouds that she didn't want to suffer. "It's ok; put the hood over your head and you'll be fine." Arthur took a deep breath and then dipped his entire upper body into the car to coax her out. He merely touched her elbows lightly as a prelude to some comforting and reassurance and she crawled away from him to press herself into the car door on the other side. He could see it was going to take time and if he had to spend hours in the downpour talking her to the edge of the seat, he was willing. He was digging his feet in and getting prepared to be persistent and patient. Arthur sat back into the car. He leant his hand on the middle seat and—she kicked at him. Taken aback, Arthur gaped, "Ariad—" she hid her face and she kicked him in the torso. "Baby, I'm not going to—" She kicked him away frantically and made sounds of panic (like he was attacking her, "Ari, please—") until he was completely out of the car and three steps behind the open car door. The Point couldn't believe it…his hands grabbed the back of his head and he crouched to the ground. He just didn't know what to do. He didn't know what to say. He wanted to help more than anyone and she wanted him to leave her alone more than she wanted anyone else too.

Cobb stepped up to try, drenched. Ariadne flinched when he came close to the door (the water now dripping inside onto the floorboards). He stopped at the opening with his palms on the hood of the car beside his head, "We just need to get you inside. What can we do to make that comfortable?" Caramel eyes peek back out. "Are you worried about getting wet? Is that it?" One nod. "Ok." Dominic quickly shed his jacket, "Put the Hood on your head, we'll put the blanket that's draped on the seat there over that and my jacket over that. The house isn't far; it won't rain through all those layers that fast." Ariadne complied with the cloak and the blanket and inched forward. At last, she let him place the jacket over the bundle of fabrics on her head and allowed him to pick her up. Now, Cobb just had to get her inside before it rained through those layers and she got wet like he promised her she wouldn't. Hastily, he shut the car door with his back and called to Arthur, "Ok, I've got her, come on." Arthur stood and indeed saw the Architect being transported by his friend. How come she could still trust him? Dom rushed inside without looking back. Eames stood holding open the door for him to get through. The looked around behind Cobb for Arthur and then back out at the car. Arthur was staring at the doorway she'd been carried through, letting himself soak to the bone. He hurried in after Eames called.

All the men were shivering from the combination of rain and air conditioning. Yusuf directed Cobb to take her into one of the two bedrooms upstairs where she would have more privacy and helped Eames unload the bags of equipment.  
xxxxxx

"How about a bath?" It was the first thing the Point recommended when they were settled in and the rain had ceased. He explained carefully that a good soak would be beneficial to her sore muscles and perhaps even soothing to the surface wounds with backup from Yusuf. Ariadne was diffident about agreeing; the only two reasons she coincided with the idea were that she felt filthy and (though she believed no amount of soap could fix the kind of filthy she was) she wanted desperately, despairingly, to be clean. The other was that they bribed her with the comfort of leaving a sports bra and hot shorts on as she sat in the water. So Arthur drew the bath and guided her into the bathroom. He promised he would not intrude unless she needed him, set out a fresh pair of underwear and borrowed pajamas from Christa and left her be. Ariadne bravely removed her cloak and unbuttoned the nightgown (luckily the buttons were down the front.) As the fabric fell, she thought someone was staring at her through the bathroom's window. But this stranger in the window on closer, frightened inspection, was herself in the mirror.

_Ariadne is humming, brushing her teeth. The sky blue bathrobe she's got on is fastened tight around her waist but it's loose enough to give a peep of her smooth, untarnished, creamy skin. Her tresses look almost black as they drip onto the floor. She's swaying even as he appears out of nowhere and joins in with a hold on her hips. He recognizes the tune and opts to put words to it. The English ones anyway, "The magic spell you cast…_This _is La Vie En Rose…" he smirks at her when she stops and rinses her mouth out. He beams, "You ready?"_

_It's a deadpan if he's ever seen one, "I just got out of the shower. I haven't even brushed my hair." As if for emphasis she picks up her brush and starts combing through the mess she created of it in the shower._

"_Good." He nods favorably, "If you get any more beautiful I'll have to beat people up tonight and bailing me out of jail doesn't sound like your ideal birthday."_

"_Flattery gets you nowhere, Sir." She bonked him in the nose with the back of her brush playfully._

_Arthur disagrees with her. "Only if it's not true, Madam, and in your case it most definitely is."_

_She rolls her eyes but she likes it. Every girl appreciates compliments from their significant others. "Well, I would like to look a _little _presentable…considering you won't let me stay home, order Le Fou's and watch Little House on the Prairie on Netflix…"_

_He shrugs and hands her her cosmetics bag when she reaches for it, "We do that every Friday. I want your night to be special."_

"_Buy me that huge tub of cookie dough to eat by myself and it will be…" The girl is referring to a snack in the refrigerated section of their favorite franchise bakery. Arthur had dragged her there earlier that week and insisted she pick out the exact cake she wanted. Flavor, frosting, levels, toppings…you name it. While they were waiting for one of the employees to bring out a book of options, they browsed the sections of frozen treats and she found a tub of chocolate chip cookie dough she'd rather stuff herself with. He said he might get it for her when he came to pick up her cake. Which she decided on the one layer personal Oreo cake so that they could split and not have any leftovers. (So she would have room.)_

"_Night's not over yet;" Arthur chides and winks, "that could be one of your presents." It most certainly is. Along with two new scarfs (a paisley he caught her eyeing and a houndstooth that suited her), a new duffel to take to Russia, an author signed copy of "Paris' Greatest Architectural Secrets", and an engraved case he had custom made for her compass, protractor, ruler and collection of ink pens._

"_Fingers crossed." Ariadne performs the action she mentions._

_He chuckles back, "Reservation's at seven thirty. Do you want me to call and push it back to eight?"_

"_No. I'll be ready."_

"_Alright." Arthur kisses her on the cheek and heads to the door, "I'll wait downstairs, gorgeous girl."  
_

It probably shouldn't have come as the shock it had…after all, she appeared as she felt. There were no mirrors in the Woods, one was never put in front of her in the Maus' house. This was the first time she could view the evidence of her sufferings with her own eyes. Ariadne looked nothing like the 'gorgeous girl' she was used to the Point seeing her as. And while she'd never been vain—much less confident—about her looks, it was devastating that the silky, creamy skin was gone. Covered in all kinds of marks and dirt and dried up substances she couldn't recall and it hung on her bones like a shirt on a hanger. All structure in her skeleton was more or less withered away. It was the final cemented block in the evidence that she had been changed. Metamorphosed. Ariadne Sophia Bourgeois was gone. The pitiful creature she gaped at was Red. What was worse was the mortifying realization that her Team had seen her like that. Eames, Dom, Yusuf, the colleagues she respected and admired had seen her as this pile of shit. Arthur had seen her like this. Arthur knew every inch of her body and this looked nothing like it. No wonder he was so hysterical and disgusted when she first revealed her face to him. What would he think of the rest of her carcass?  
xxxxxx

He suspected it would take a while but he didn't want to leave her room in case she needed him, so Arthur set up her bed with fresh sheets and a nice thick blanket. (Everyone else had changed into dry clothes. As Arthur wouldn't leave the vicinity she was in, he worked in a dripping wet suit. He claimed it would air dry.) He put some of her borrowed clothes into the drawers and made a mental note to leave the cabin and purchase some of her own in the small town closest to them. Or make Eames do it. Cobb brought in some lamps from other rooms and they plugged them in around her space. See, they'd gathered she had a newfound phobia of the dark when she woke up in a panic at 3 am the night she and Arthur slept in the car. When he turned on the overhead light so he could see what was wrong, she calmed, settled back down and even drifted off to sleep faster than the first time. So he left it on. Out of nowhere, a loud crash reverberated through her bathroom.

"Ari!?" Arthur burst through her door. Cobb in tow. The toothbrush holder was in the sink in pieces and the mirror was broken. All shapes and sizes of shards glittered on the sink's vanity and the tile floor. Ariadne sat with her back against the tub, knees pulled to her chest and one of the towels wrapped around her. Her cowl lay in a pool in front of her but she managed to take just the hood of it and pull it backwards over her head to hide her eyes from the cruel sight of her own image. The Point Man was able to piece the clues together and ascertain her loathing of her visage. "Sweetheart—"

Cobb (who figured it out as well) excused himself, "I'll grab a broom."

Arthur didn't address the situation. It would exacerbate it, especially when her arms were folded over her head and he could hear sniffling as plain as he could hear his own words. Instead, he acted like it was no big deal. "Have you not gotten in yet? I don't want it to get too cold for you." He would draw another bath if it was but he dipped his hand into the body of water. It wasn't scalding hot anymore but that might've been a good thing. It was still toasty warm. She let the material slip off of her head but kept it bowed. Her head shook negatively. The towel slid from her shoulder; Ariadne could sense his gaze on the exposed flesh. Could sense the displeasure it brought him. When she ventured a look at his face it was confirmed. His eyes were downcast and focused on her shoulder, her collar bones, full of melancholy. The Architect was quick to pull the towel back up. Quick to cower her head away when his eyes flickered to hers. _So_ embarrassed.

The Point Man swallowed and put forth a near successful attempt at sounding relatively cheery. "Do you need help getting in?"

_She's nearly dozing off. The uncomfortable angle of her head against the tile has gotten so familiar it's barely there. The bubbles kiss her cheek and create a blanket over the water. Arthur creeps in under the radar. Silently, undetectable. Her arms are resting on the sides of the tub. Once they got too pruney she gave them a respite. It's not until something squishy and wet releases trails of suds and water down one of them that she quizzically opens her eyes to find Arthur scrubbing off the dried ash and mud that was too built up to soak off yet. She raises her eyebrows…"Getting impatient? I made you take your shower first so I could take my time."  
"We haven't eaten all day. I ordered up some food for us; it's getting cold."  
"I'm sorry, "Ariadne sighs and shifts, "You can go ahead and eat if you want."  
Arthur dips the hand towel back into the water and brings it up to wring it out, "Nah. We can microwave it when you're ready. Your root beer float however-" Those were a guilty pleasure of the Architect's. There was only one restaurant she'd sniffed out in Paris that served them. Otherwise, she had to buy the ice cream and soda and make them herself. Which she saved for special occasions and those nights when she needed the extra little comforts of childhood memories and classic American food. Since they'd had a particularly rough day in the field and she'd been forced to use her gun in reality for the first time (and thus forced to waste two real lives), Arthur deemed it a worthy enough night for some chicken and dumplings, corn on the cob and a root beer float.  
"—Oh. I guess it's melted, huh?" Everything coming from her is low-key, a note away from monotone and a little bit numb. Arthur squeezes the rag at the top of her shoulder again and tentatively cleans it off. He mentions that he put it in the freezer and he thinks it'll be ok. Then adds that he'll just order her a fresh one since the soda would be flat anyway and because he remembers the first time he'd killed someone (accidentally on a training exercise in his early militant years) and the solace he needed afterwards…so he wants it to be the best damn root beer float she's ever had. She smiles halfheartedly and sits up. There's still debris and dirt on her back, her other arm and what he can see of her neck above the bubbles. Ariadne's been in here an hour and a half and is no cleaner than when she hopped in. Arthur jokes, "Your skin is going to shrivel up and peel off before this stuff magically soaks off of you. What have you been doing in here?" "Thinking." Overthinking he mentally elaborates. She's the kind of girl who worries that she's destroying parts of someone's mind just by shooting their projections. Ariadne is the kind of person who has enough regret and guilt over that, that he can't imagine what all she's burying down after killing two men. Enemies or not. Self-defense or not. She always makes the case that most of the cronies hired by the companies with bounties on their heads are just doing their job. That they all have Ariadnes and Philippas and James' and Arthurs and are merely trying to save their own skin for the people _they _care about protecting. He'll reason that it's what she had done. Her job. She was just saving her own skin. But the Architect would still have a problem with it because she was the one holding the gun. She pulls her soapy knees up and rests her head on them after she allows him to push her forward so he can clean off her back for her. Arthur soothes, "Thinking is my job. You're supposed to be the carefree one. I'm no good at that; we can't switch _now_." This wins her laughter.  
Ariadne gets serious again soon, "I just hate—"  
"The irrelevant guilt?"  
"No. The lack of it. I should be depressed. I should be losing my mind over the fact that I shot two people today and instead I'm losing it over the fact that—I shot two people and it affects me no more than lying about my name or cooking a grilled cheese sandwich."  
Arthur kisses the bruise on her shoulder blade and Ariadne asks, horrified, "Am I a horrible person?"  
"No…You're just being numbed by the battle scars of the dream-share world. Physical and mental. Neither you deserve. It was self-defense anyway."  
"But I want more." The Architect meets his eyes guiltily, "I like the chases and the adventure and going into people's minds and manipulating there dreams. And I don't mind that I have to be tore up or tear someone else up as a byproduct. I love this job. I love this world. Does that make me a revolting human being? If that's what I see when I look in the mirror, is that what other people see?... Is that what you see? Have I changed?"  
Arthur shakes his head, "You're a _goodhearted _person, Ariadne. A passionate, self-sacrificing, team player: that's what people see. You're better than the rest of us—My heart wasn't worth fighting for and yet you did it anyway. You made me human again. You selflessly brought Cobb out of his guilt driven insanity. You're a beautiful person, inside and outside. You remember that and this business won't be able to take it away from you."_

She ignored his offer. Dom had come back and begun sweeping up fragments of reflective glass. Yusuf came bounding in behind to check on her. He deemed her his "patient" until they ascertained what medical treatment and or diet plan she would need to make a full recovery and did so. Sure, he was mostly a scientist but his father was a doctor and he'd taken an interest in first aid and nutrition at school. He was well equipped in knowledge required to be somewhat of a nurse to her. Oddly (or not really) enough, when the Chemist inquired, "Oh…do you need assistance," he was the one she trusted. Yusuf was the one she looked in the eye, nodded and allowed the minimal touching needed to guide her in. She wouldn't stand until Cobb and Arthur had left the room. The extractor in haste and Arthur in deject. Perhaps it was because Yusuf was wearing his white coat (he donned when he was doing testing of some sort) and he looked medical…but everything about him reminded her of another version of Mila. She knew _him_ first though so it should've been the other way around. Maybe she innately trusted Mila because she reminded her of Yusuf? They were both dream-share/ real life chemists, both of middle-eastern ethnicity, both with a minor background in medicine. Anyway, Mila was a chemist and she saved her. So since Yusuf was like Mila she knew he would only help. He turned his back to her to let her try washing off herself.

It only took Ariadne pressing the rag into the water to have an anxiety attack. Holding it down under the water—though it was only an object and it wouldn't hurt it—too closely reminded her of a faraway, half remembered memory of watching someone who looked like herself drown two innocent parents in a bin of oil. The Architect let it go like it was made of fire, pulled it to the surface to let it breathe and backed up away from it in the tub. She was scared she would hurt it. She was afraid of her own capabilities. Yusuf twisted Ariadne at the sounds of wild sloshing. In her rush, her hand slipped and she knocked her temple into the side of the faucet (not hard enough to do anything but startle her). From there her arms gave out and she went under the water with an open mouth. She was too weakened to push herself back up on her own so Yusuf yanked her up and patted her back to help her cough out the water. "You're ok. Breathe. It's fine. Breathe, Ariadne." Of course, the door swung open on accord of the Point Man but Yusuf held up a hand to keep him from coming in and upsetting her more… so he closed it back. Her coughing died down but her grip on the edge of tub only tightened. Yusuf offered, "Would you like me to do it? You can tell me to stop at any time and I will. I give you my word as a doctor and a friend."

Ariadne also permitted the Chemist to help her into bed.  
xxxxxx

The next morning Yusuf (the new favorite) was able to talk her into letting him draw blood samples, take her temperature and blood pressure and run the information through the handheld he'd brought. The Team wanted to make sure they were aware of everything that could be wrong. Yusuf had noted that Jeff had performed the check up in the Maus' home and lacked the technology Yusuf had on hand to do one as extensive as they needed. Since Ariadne was still asleep (The girl couldn't keep her eyes open. She slept on night, dozed while Yusuf did his testing and went back out like a light. It was roughly three in the afternoon and she was still passed out. One couldn't rouse her for anything) the entire group of men sat downstairs in the living room awaiting the Chemist's results. Arthur had his own notepad and pencil, Eames had a sandwich and Cobb had nothing. He sat with one leg crossed over the other and listened intently.

"There are less white blood cells than there should be. Low iron." Yusuf determined from the bar graph on his handheld. "We should get her some vitamins…and milk. Her muscle strength and bone density is down, I'm sure."

Arthur wrote furiously in his pad for any and all things they'd need to procure. There was a list for things they needed to treat her and a list of things that—was wrong with her, "But no diseases or—"

"No she's clear of that. Thank God." There was a USB feature he was able to plug into one of their laptops for a further in depth analysis, "If there are any infections other than some pussy open wounds, they haven't entered the bloodstream." The program pulled itself up and he clicked over the tabs they'd reviewed to the list of things in her system and a rough sketch of her homeostatic (im)balances. "There is one thing…" He pointed to the bar on the far right of the screen and scrolled over, "There is an excess of sedative in her system." The numbers fluctuated like jumping beans but the height of the bar more or less remained in one spot. "As if she's been injected with it multiple times a day for a few weeks at the least." He shivered but tried to tell himself it was the temperature of the room.

Eames took a bite of his turkey on rye and gaped, "So they've been putting her under?"

"No. I don't think so." Yusuf tilted his head, clicked on the bar to maximize it and read off the jargon the rest of them couldn't understand. "It isn't Somnacin. It has many of the same properties…but I think it was custom-concocted. If I could make an educated guess, I would say it works the same way on your body except instead of falling asleep and dreaming, you stay slightly awake. Doze in and out instead of pulled into slumber." He looked up from the device in the other three's general direction, "That way the user is conscious enough to be aware of everything that's happening," his features grew dim because he was telling them she was made acutely aware of the torture but unable to even attempt to fight back, "but too drugged to do anything about it."

Eames shook his head, swallowed, then pointed out, "That's why she's so lethargic?"

"I'm sure there are numerous other factors attributing to that," Dom inserted.

Arthur was the one to get the ball rolling on how to restore natural balance to her body, "So…what do we do about it? Be active and pump her stomach or be passive and let it run its course?"

"Well…the latter. She's dehydrated enough without us forcing her to vomit. We can't risk her losing what nutrients she might have in there." The Point conceded and went to close his notebook. He believed Yusuf's presentation had come to a close. The Chemist's high pitched, "But…" made him open it back up and look at his inquisitively, "like any other drug you've had in your system for copious amounts of time." He winced.

Dom wanted the bandaid ripped off, "Out with it, Yusuf."

"Her body is undoubtedly dependent on it now."

The Extractor and Forger both displayed dread. That's what Dom was afraid of. As if Ariadne hadn't already been through enough. He wasn't sure her body could take much more toll. Could she make it through the storm that was fixing to come? Arthur had already been through enough…Eames' appetite stopped mid-bite. The last half of the sandwich lowered to the plate and the plate was pushed away on the coffee table. It was evident what they all were about to have to do, to force her to endure. But Arthur continued as if he didn't know what Yusuf meant by it. So Yusuf closed his laptop and laid it out. "She's addicted."

Arthur droned, "To what?"

Cobb reiterated, "To the sedative the Hoods have been giving her. They've gotten her dependent."

"Well they can't give it to her anymore, so…" he shook his head.

Sighing, Yusuf looked Arthur straight in the eyes, "She's going to go through _withdrawal_. Actually, it's been over 24 hours she should have started that process by now." The Chemist's eyebrows furrowed to calculate and then to demonstrate utter confusion. It should've set in by now. She'd gone a night and all day with it.

Arthur started like he'd slept through his alarm and woke up late. "Wait—you said it was a lot like Somnacin? It has similar properties, it imitates the effect?"

"Correct."

The Point Man stood, the pen and paper dropped to his seat, "Would Ariadne be able to deduce that in her state?"

"Yes. Her reflexes are slow, she's emotionally stinted but she still has the mental capacity to process like she used to."

Arthur rubbed his head, "The PASIV was in the backseat last night. Where she slept. Unlocked."

Eames groaned, "Shit. That's why it was so light carrying in."

Cobb sprung up and headed for the stairs, "Search her room."

Xxxxxx

**Next Chapter: Ariadne finally speaks to Arthur **(Guesses about topic or conversation length/circumstance?), **The team pulls her through withdrawal, Ariadne seeks to weakly confide in Cobb for a favor. **(Guesses on favor? It's been asked before. If you figure it out, guesses on his reaction! Would he alert Arthur?)

Thank you for reading! Please please review and I'll quickly quickly update.


	15. The Moon

Big thanks to: _Lauraa-x: _First off, thank you for the virtual hug!Unfortunately the conversation isn't going to be what you think. It touches on the subjects you guessed but in a different light. You'll see. _EzraFitzLove: _Well, I'm glad you loved it that much! And I totally ship Grant and Mila too. ;) _Nina: _Ah, its cool. Travelling is fun! Welp-here you go.

Thank you _Imi _for favoriting the story, _bajatadancer _for following the story and a huge, huge, slice of gratitude pie to _EzraFitzLove _for favoriting and following both the story and I. And reviewing! Dang! Just _thank you_.

**Link to Joseph Gordon Levitt (Arthur) singing the below song is on my profile. I do not own the video but they don't mind that I linked it. Also, if you wanna see the actor/actress I had in mind for Grant and Mila while writing, the link for that is there also.**

**Chapter 15: The Moon.**

_I'd like to visit the moon in a rocket ship high in the air.  
Yes, I'd like to visit the moon but I don't think I'd wanna stay there.  
Oh, I'd like to look down on the earth from above  
But I'd miss all the places and people I love  
So although I might stay there for one afternoon, I don't wanna live on the moon._

_I'd like to visit the sea. I could meet all the little fish there  
Yes, I'd travel under the sea but I don't think I'd wanna stay there  
I could stay for a day there if I had my wish  
but there's not much to do when your friends are all fish  
And an oyster and clam are not my family  
So I don't wanna live in the sea._

_I could visit the jungle and hear a lion roar  
Go back in time, meet a dinosaur  
There are so many places that I'd like to be  
But none of them permanently._

That was James and Philippa's special song since they were little. When daddy and Uncle Arthur and sometimes mommy would have to leave for a while…and then when Daddy came home for good, it became their special song with Uncle Arthur and Auntie Ariadne when they would come to visit and have to leave. It was the red herring answer to the questions, "Where are you going?" and "When will you be back?" Of course if they were going home to Paris or New York they would tell them easily but if they were heading out for a job (which they usually were), somewhere dangerous, somewhere it was possible they might not come back from, somewhere full of dreams, they would tell them (had always told them) they were going to the moon. "But what if your rocket gets stuck and you have to stay there forever?" To which Arthur would jest, "You know Uncle Arthur doesn't like to stay anywhere for very long." "But what if you have to?" Philippa would usually challenge. Ariadne stepped in, "Then when you miss us you can go outside and wave up at the moon and know that somewhere up there we're waving back." When their mother died, it was easier to tell the children she'd gotten stuck up there on their visit. "Why couldn't she come back with daddy? Why can't Uncle Arthur or Auntie Ari bring her back when they go to the moon?" "Only one person can be in a rocket. Everyone has their own special one that no one else can pilot." Once it was tested, they saw the flaws in the logic but there wasn't any turning back. At that point in time the kids bought it. Pippa was getting to the age where she was beginning to get it…that they couldn't really travel to the moon and mommy was actually dead (grandma Penelope had had that conversation with them) but James still believed whole-heartedly. Arthur would pull out Dom's guitar and they'd all sing the song together until the children dozed off. The kids always tried to fight it. They knew when they heard the moon song that the next morning they would wake up and someone they loved would be gone.  
xxxxxx

Ariadne had slept soundly the night after her bath. Too soundly. Like the dead. And she had been idyllically unconscious when they found the PASIV empty of its Somnacin supply and searched her room. They found it all dispersed: Arthur found some under her pillow, Eames retrieved vials from the bottom of one of the drawers, Yusuf uncovered syringes behind the toilet in the bathroom. Clearly, she knew it wasn't good for her and she shouldn't have it or she wouldn't have hidden it from them. But then it was clear that she truly was addicted. Whereas, Arthur normally kept possession of the PASIV, he was staying in the second bedroom upstairs across from hers. So Cobb put the PASIV in his closet downstairs and let Yusuf lock away most of the bottles of Somnacin with the rest of his chemicals. Arthur kept one bottle in his pocket that he was going to hide in the drawer of his room in case they needed quick access to some.

They bunkered down for the war she was fixing to rage when she got the urge and couldn't find a fix. Yusuf did his best to explain the medical effects it would have. The nausea, the chills, the convulsions. "I know what happens during withdrawal, Yusuf, you can stop treating me like an imbecile." There he went with accidentally insulting the Point Man again…Dom stepped in to make sure Arthur was ready for the emotional and mental effects it would have (not just on Ariadne but on him). Ariadne was going to get desperate and do whatever she thought would persuade them into giving her more Somnacin. There was no telling what it would be either. He warned, "You're going to want to give it to her but we can't." "You think I don't know that? I'm aware of all this! Would everyone stop talking to me like a child? Like I'm not capable of restraining myself from giving her drugs?"  
xxxxxx

Arthur had walked in to check on her and expected she'd still be asleep. Instead, the sheets of her bed were pulled out and bunched around. She was on her knees, with her pillow turned upside down, shaking it. When Ariadne heard his presence she turned fiercely. "Where is it?" It was the first time she'd spoken to him and her voice was not as he'd remembered it. It was deeper, raspy, gruff (like she'd had the flu) from lack of use. Like a person who doused in the throaty fire of alcohol and cigarettes for years. Or like someone had taken a cheese grater to her vocal chords. (Arthur wouldn't be surprised if they had.)

The Point was aware of the objects she was searching for but wanted to make sure, "Where's what?"

"…I had some" jumpy fingers fidgeted with her cloak as her eyes shot down, "…stuff…" her hand rubbed the back of her head through the hood, "under my pillow—"

Arthur sighed. It was as he expected. There was no point in lying to her, "It's gone."

The Architect's eyes sprung back up at him and a plethora of different emotions were racing through them. Confusion. Embarrassment. Anger. Need. Fear. Pain and the despairing need to quell it. "Wha-wha-what did you—did you do with it?" She fumbled with her question clumsily.

Time to steel himself. He was told (too many times if you asked him) it would be a battle so he stood straighter and unwavering (never dictatorial though) "I put it up." It was a gamble but he delicately laid his hand on her shoulder to convince her, "You don't need it, Ariadne."

"Yes I do." She ripped her shoulder out from under his touch (and grimaced from the exertion), "Give it back." She demanded with more confidence than she possessed.

"I can't do that," shook the Point's head. It seemed as if he towered over her, standing over her bed, her sitting back on her knees.

Before he could hold her down she rolled off the side of the bed to her feet. The Architect's muscles weren't ready for the little weight she'd thrust upon them. Her knees went but Arthur caught her elbows and assisted to support her body weight as her demeanor changed. Ariadne's eyes misted. She gave him the look she always gave him when they were together…the one where she pulled the puppy dog eyes and he couldn't say no because his sweet girl's happiness depended on him and—damnit how could he keep it from her? It'd been so long since she'd looked at him without anything but fear and discomfort, "Please, Arthur…you don't understand…."

It was happening. Ariadne was tearing down that resolve with little effort and he really wished he had paid attention to Cobb when he was listing off tactics he could use to fend her off. "It hurts…" Her gasp stole his breath and he had to close his eyes to break the spell. He turned his head away but her arms—they were hugging him and her body was hanging on him for comfort. And Arthur had wanted her to need and want his comfort since that lady called them. He'd yearned for her to curl into his arms and rely on him for something, anything. He needed to help and she was finally letting him. She was asking him for something. Ariadne finally saw him as someone useful. Arthur was struggling with whether he should let his arms wrap around her in return when her head buried in his chest and her voice broke into a shaky, tearful, "You don't know how much I've had to _feel." _His arms moved of their own volition to hold her closer and caress her hair. Hold her like he craved to when he first got her back. Hold her and never let go._ "_Please, I just want to be numb. I don't want to _feel _any more." No—no—he was conscious of what she was doing…The Architect was fishing in his jacket pockets.

The Point Man hesitantly pulled her arms away and sat her back down on the bed. "I'm sorry. This is what's best for you, I have to."

"You never give me a choice do you?" The tears dried up on command and he realized with sickening clarity that the moment they just shared was fabricated. Ariadne was using his feelings for her against him. Manipulating and nothing more. Just like the Hoods taught her. "You just decide I shouldn't have it so you take it away from me."

She was back to fierce and manic. It was imperative Arthur get out of her presence as soon as possible. The Point Man pivoted and gaited for the door to the bedroom when she called out: "Just like you decided I didn't want you so you_ left me._" He shouldn't have stopped. He did. He halted mid-step and twisted in her doorway. Those doe-like eyes: The ones he remembered getting lost in every morning when they fluttered open to greet him. The ones that batted and sparkled when he stole kisses. The golden chestnut that haunted him and kept him lying awake wherever he was…they stared back at him and he didn't recognize them at all. He'd never seen them impugn. Never seen them blame. It floored him. "How could you leave me? I loved you." she gritted.

"Arthur. Close the door." The Point felt a hand pull him back and then Yusuf was slamming the door on Ariadne as she scrambled (falling and tripping on feeble limbs) to reach it before it shut. The Chemist and Forger were doing something to the handle to prevent her escape and Cobb had him by the shoulders, guiding him further back into the hallway. Arthur saw Cobb's lips move. Saw his face trying to console him as it darted back and forth between her room and Arthur's face. His ears heard nothing his friend said; they were focused on the fists pounding into wood and the stabbing accusations.

"I hate you, Arthur! I hate you!" Ariadne had never told him that. During their last fight she had used the word. She'd implied that they might grow to hate each other but never had he heard the blatant, conviction filled statement _'I hate you.'_ He hoped he never would. It was actually Arthur's worst fear. He'd left her that night because he was sure that if he stood between her and the dreams that eventually she'd hate him for stunting her creative growth. For making her choose him over dreams. And the last thing he ever wanted Ariadne to feel towards him was seething hate. The Point Man gawked at her door. His arms fought Cobb's off and hooked around the back of his head. "You _abandoned_ me! You _let _them_ have _me! It's your fault I'm like this! You know what I did to keep you alive?! What I let them do?! It's all your fault! Everything is _your _fault! I hate you!" No, no, no…. Arthur doubled over and tried jamming his fist into his ears to keep from hearing the Architect. He kept telling himself they were all lies but then why did it sting so truthfully awful?

Yusuf looked over his shoulder. He held the door handle and pulled against the door frame while Eames took a screwdriver and fiddled around. "It's just the withdrawal talking, Arthur. She's purely saying what she thinks will guilt you into giving in." The man assured like it was just some everyday occurrence and the answer was clinical.

"She's not herself." The Englishman added.

"But it's true…" Arthur began to pace. "She did. She begged me not to go and I walked out on her. I left her for them to find."

The two men finished their handiwork on the doorknob and stepped back. It promptly shook and she screeched, " I needed you! And you didn't even come looking for me; you just let him rape me! _Over_ and _over_ and over and over again!"

"No!" Arthur marched to the door, pressed his palms against the wood. "I looked!" His teeth gritted and he insisted, "I did my _best_, Ari, I searched everywhere for you. I nearly died when I thought you were-"

Cobb ordered and yanked him back, "Don't reply to her. It encourages the behavior if she thinks she's getting to you."

"She is getting to me!"

"Oh God, it burns…" grunted the figure on the other side of the door and the three men could hear the distinct sound of skin sliding against wood. And palms clapping against the ground.

Arthur was already fumbling around in his pockets for the Somnacin. Amazing how weak a man in love could be when the one they cared for was hurting. "Can't we wean her off of it slowly? Let me give her a little less each day."

"Yes! Please!" The Architect's voice rasped.

Yusuf grabbed his wrist, "There's already so much of it in her system; The more you give her the longer she'll be this way." The vial was pried out of Arthur's clenched fist, "We have to cut her off cold."

And the Forger told Dom to, "Take him downstairs. Yusuf and I will monitor." Eames' face was bunched up. He didn't enjoy the idea of listening to her suffer for however long it took but he knew that out of all of them, Dom was the best at calming the Point down and he and Yusuf would be able to stand it better than the other pair.  
xxxxxx

It was partly the withdrawal talking (and partly harbored emotions) because for the next eight hours she called to each and every one of them. Bribing them, guilting them, cussing them out. _"Yusuf…aren't you a doctor? Didn't you take an oath to help people...?" "Eames…what have I ever done to you? I knew you objectified women but I didn't know you were a misogynist!" "After everything I've put myself through for you? Cobb! You have to help me! I went to limbo for you, it's the least you can do…Please!" _Around the twelve hour mark (five am) she quieted down. By that point they had heard at least a sampling of it all: the chills, the convulsions, the crying, the nausea, the flailing around and destruction of her room (they'd heard a lamp break and something tip over.) Now, she whimpered. Ariadne had given up on the three men who took shifts sitting in pairs by her door and with Arthur downstairs. He could hear her movement through the ceiling and her hollers throughout the building. The tv was going but silently and he didn't watch it as much as he zoned out in its direction. He was drained.

There'd been no abrupt noises through the floor and no hoarse voice that he could hear for an hour and a half when he decided he could try to handle it again and give someone else a break. Eames was on the ground floor with him at the time and gave him an inquisitive look when he brought the man another mug of coffee and the Point got up and climbed the stairs. He was on his heels. The Architect was _still _talking when he made it to the top but softly and dispirited. You would've had to keen your ears to hear it and the halfhearted scratches against the door. When Cobb and Yusuf noticed him, they warned with their eyes and head gestures but he verified he wouldn't make a sound. He was fine (as he would ever be). "Why did you stop loving me? What did I do?" His pointy ears caught the query as his lungs caught his breath. They had warned him because she was addressing him this time. Brown eyes cut to the door. "Please…I can't stand it. Make it stop…" The Point melted. He could hear the excess of tears clouding her vision and making her nose run and he swallowed hard. Those weren't made up tears this time. Ariadne was strung out, she couldn't put in the effort to yell and calculate and lie. This was tired babbling, the truth as a last resort. "If you ever loved me at all…help me stop hurting."

He'd tried to. She didn't want him to help. Arthur earned a reserved disapproving look from Cobb that suggested he clear the top floor. Eames was behind him and leant against the closed door of his room which was just across from hers. "Just say something. Anything. Tell me I don't have to go through this alone…I just need you to open the door a crack." He looked down and saw four little stick shadows and concluded she was laying by the door with four fingers trying to feel their way out the bottom. Arthur knelt on his knees in front of her door…if he could see her shadow maybe she could see his and would know that he was there for her as much as he could be. That he hadn't abandoned her a second time. Her breaths became labored and she emitted staccato grunts, slapped her palm against the ground in one of her waves of seizure.

From the back, Arthur's shoulders rose and fell quickly and his head dropped down until she calmed again. Laying down beside her door, his head on the ground peering through the crack, Arthur rested his fingertips on the bottom of the door as if holding her hand. Ariadne whispered, "I know you think you're helping by sitting out there and ignoring me—" The other three shared passing glances, "—But it would be so much easier if you cared enough to come in." He slept on the floor with his fingers pressed against the bottom of the door that night.  
xxxxxx

They waited until the twenty eight hour mark to allow themselves to go in and out of her room. When they went in the first time, she had fallen asleep on the floor by the door and they had to squeeze to get in without hitting her with it. Eames picked her up and moved her to the bed and Yusuf and Cobb tried to sop up the vomit on the floor and clean the glass from her broken lamps while Arthur cleaned her face and neck off with a rag. She was burning up and glossy with sweat so he rolled up the sleeves of her cloak, pulled back the hood and laid a cool hand towel on her forehead. They didn't stay long enough to do anything but that and left some boxes of unsalted crackers and several bottles of water.

It was a waiting game.

When Eames came in next, she was passed out again, her leg hung out of the covers and off the side of the bed. Like a nurturing big brother he tucked it back in. The towel Arthur had placed on her forehead had fallen to her sleeve (probably when she rolled to the side and hugged her pillow) and she had wrenched the crimson fabric back over her head. The edge was beginning to fray from her intent and compulsive clawing and pulling on it. The Forger, again, drew it back from her face and used the displaced towel to wipe up more sweat. Arthur came in as he was emerging from her bathroom with a fresh one to nudge on the back of her neck to cool her off. The Point ran his hand down her arm and adjusted the covers while Eames grabbed two empty water bottles. Good, she drank something to replenish her electrolytes. And they were pleasantly surprised to see one and a half crackers missing from a package. That was a start. They left again after that.

The time after was not as pleasant. Yusuf took it upon himself to check on her before dinner and she was curled into a ball having just thrown up on herself and the bed. Ariadne was quivering when he walked in. He alerted Arthur who then came up to help. Yusuf took the soiled sheets and brought in new ones while Arthur coaxed her into a position he could change her out of her clothes. The Architect opposed and wrangled at first but the crispness of a new shirt (one of his button ups was easiest to get on her) and the pajama pants Mrs. Maus had given them to use was so soothing that she deadened and let him. He could take her arms out of the sleeves of her cloak and so long as he didn't dare touch the Hood covering her head she was cooperative. Eames was the one who noticed that the addiction to keep her cloak and hood on was as prevalent as the addiction to the sedative. He'd observed her enough to see that she used it as a coping mechanism. When she couldn't handle things, when she got scared, when she felt pain, she covered her eyes with it. It must've been a practice put in place in the Woods and is why it had become her only form of solace. Arthur slipped her arms back in it and covered her with the new blanket Yusuf brought (that Cobb had forfeited from the edge of his bed). Then again, they were gone.  
xxxxxx

That night before bed, Dom headed up the check on her. She was burning up—her hair, and body wet like she'd taken a bath—but there were goose bumps everywhere. He called on the Point to change her out of another set of clothes and had Arthur wash them out in the bathroom while he patted her with a damp rag and blew on her face to cool her down. Her eyes fluttered open, "Cobb…?" she cracked. It was the first time she'd been awake while one of them was in there. The Extractor smiled down at her, "Hey superstar. You're doing great." Ariadne's eyes closed back like she drifted back into sleep. She startled him when she breathed, "If I asked you…to help me with….something….Would you? No matter….what?"

He nodded, "Of course. We all would."

"Even if…I asked….you to kill me?"

Dom's heart stopped. Ariadne's eyes weakly opened back up to him, begging. The Extractor's gaze shot to the doorway of her bathroom in hopes that Arthur could not hear. The Point was holding fresh dried and folded clothes from the other day, like a deer in the headlights. "I couldn't do that," he let her down softly and brought his focus back to her face, "Besides my morality, how much I care about you and the fact that I have enough guilt already…we both know Arthur wouldn't react kindly."

Ariadne shivered. Instinctively he rubbed her arms to warm her up. She countered, "Well Arthur has a way of…projecting his selfish needs…with the excuse that it's best for _me_." Again, Dom glanced at Arthur (who only looked down) nervously. "I'm not the girl you all think you saved…look at me…" He obliged. "Ariadne's gone. She's not here."

Dom thought she was talking about it metaphorically. That the Architect just didn't feel like herself. That she'd forgotten and needed reminding of who she once was. That she was wandering somewhere in the back of her mind waiting to be freed. "We're going to help you bring her back. Just tell us where she is."

Her eyes welled up preceding her whisper, "The moon."

Cobb sighed as he closed his eyes. It was the story they told the children to appease their minds and let them down easily. To Ariadne, she was already as good as dead. But to save his and Arthur's roaring concern and impending sadness, she said she was lost up in space without a way home. And no one could bring her back but herself. "Her rocket got stuck. She can't come back. She doesn't know how." His friend was swallowing and sniffling to keep from getting emotional. The Extractor mouthed, "I've got it" and nodded towards the door. Arthur went and locked himself in his room.

Another day passed. There were little improvements… like she had stopped vomiting, she'd eaten a quarter of a packet of crackers and the spasms were rare. The Point Man had not been in for checks all day. He couldn't bear to after her confession the night before. It only took looking at her to hear 'if I asked you to kill me?' and be broken in half. However, sometime in the middle of their simple meal thrown together by Dom for dinner, the Point decided he would take in his pillow and a sheet and make a pallet in her room overnight should she need anything. Ariadne had made no attempts to escape the room and had returned to her mute state long ago. She hadn't called for any of them but bore whatever they chose to do when they entered. He should've foreseen he wouldn't sleep. For every time one of her upsurges of chills came he got up and rubbed fast circles on her shoulders to warm her, then dabbed off the sweat. And during each attack of spasms he cradled her head and promised it would be over soon. In between, he sat at her window and stared up through the blinds and the trees at the moon.

Maybe his Ariadne was waving back.  
xxxxxx

Ok guys. Ari is on her way to an upswing soon, I promise. Like within these next few chapters. It's not an all of the sudden miraculous fix but there's progress. Including progress between our fave two people as well.

**Next chapter: A little bit of light (literally), an offer from Saito (guesses?) and an action scene including return of some not so savory characters from the woods. (Guess who…..muahahah) **


	16. Skeleton Me

Thank you: _Lauraa-x, Lazarus76, musicismyheroine. _

**Chapter 16: Skeleton Me.**

Arthur had come in with the morning to bring her more crackers and some bland brand of cookies. The fits of shivering had stopped sometime earlier that morning after two more grueling days as the last of the drug flushed out of her system. The searing flames and ripples of burning sensations that racked her body in the early stages of her cleanse exchanged themselves for an unfathomable frost in the chills that came after. Her cloak was soaked with her sweat but she could not bring herself to take it off and slapped at the boys when they tried. In her days in the underworld, her hood had become a coping mechanism; if something was unbearable she would clutch the fabric over her face. A subconscious obedience to Arthur's order to 'never look.' Naturally, since they'd locked her in the room she'd grasped and clawed at it to cover her eyes. Just when the Architect thought she couldn't give anymore the world decided it wanted more from her. She was truly spent now but somehow saw things clearer. Like a fog had been lifted and there was an end to the twilight zone she'd been living in just ahead. Up until this point: escaping, being rescued, it had been a blur. It had been another pipe dream that she would wake up from to be greeted by a hungry wolf and his brother, Misery. That and the withdrawal she'd been put through negated any of the relief or happiness that could've come from being free of Wolffe and his men.

Ariadne laid on her side. Her right arm cradled her head and her knees sought solace by her stomach. She'd been blissfully unconscious until the Point Man had padded in and set a tray of simple, digestible sustenance on a small table beside her bed. Her eyes fluttered open at his waist level, immediately saw him as he stirred the hot liquid (some herbal tea Yusuf recommended) and set out some crackers. She appreciated the fact that even though it was just a plastic package of unleavened bread, he was gentle in opening it. In genuine interest at the (now) foreign quality, Ariadne studied his nimble fingers as they carefully pulled at the seam of the pack and lined four crackers along the plate without crumbling or breaking any of them. Next, her focus slid to his shiny shoes. Immaculately polished. Scuff free. He had his faults…and with all of the things he had done: the many ways he was trained to kill and his experience in doing so, his accumulated years in an illegal business and the entrepreneur he'd made of himself in such an illegitimate way—Ariadne had been the lesser of two evils when they were together. She was the one with more purity and humanity. The one less tarnished. She was several leagues away from that now…even with all of his sins, she saw him as the pristine one. His perfect hair and shoes and suit and demeanor. His politeness and chivalry, his manners and morals. His clout. His…fidelity. And there she laid: an addict. A whore. A murderer. A Hood.

There was—right there next to his left foot—a sliver of bright yellow reaching across the carpeted floor. Ariadne's eyes glided down the string of color. She could place the familiarity of such a phenomenon but couldn't put her finger on what it could be. The stream led her to her answer: the window. She was staring at light. Sunlight. The Architect had almost forgotten it existed. After all when they brought her in it had been raining and she'd been preoccupied as of late. The curtains were closed and the blinds shut but that tiny slice of light peeked through the side. It was then that Ariadne truly comprehended where she was: She was back in the world. The girl couldn't remember the last time she'd woken up and seen sunlight shine into her room. There wasn't much she could remember at all and yet she remembered too much. Her hand unfolded on the mattress in front of her face: It was bony. The knuckles were banged up, bruised, scraped. The nails chewed down close to the cuticles from anxiety. Her wrist had always been petite and thin but never where it looked like skin and bone—hold the skin. There wasn't much of it on her wrist because what had been there was chapped and peeling in a desperate mess of trying to heal itself. If she turned her hand over, she would see a scab across her palm. One where the memory was so strong she could feel the blade cut through it all over again by looking at it. All of that coupled with the ashen hue of her skin and Ariadne knew that the darkness had peeled everything that embodied the Architect off and crumbled the flakes. What remained of her was a skeleton. A shell. Living, breathing but barely there.

If darkness could rob her of everything she once was…naturally, light should return it to her. Right? This notion, this idea nested in her brain like a parasite. Methodically, Ariadne started to move her limbs about. "How are you feeling?" He'd noticed. He sounded tentative. She didn't fault him for it; the need for sedatives turned her into a screaming, spiteful banshee. Though every hurtful and malicious word that fell from her mouth and through the door felt gratifying…she regretted them. Bone scraped on top of bone, tender flesh stung, muscles ached with every bend and budge. She bit it back and forced herself to push up to a seated position with feet dangling off of the side of the bed. "Ariadne?" Now he sounded more concerned as he stepped closer. The Architect spared him no glances; her eyes stayed fixated on the blaze of salvation by his foot. There was more of it, she was positive. A whole lot more of it. It was crucial she get to the source of it—she had to get outside. She slid off the edge for her feet to make contact with the floor.

Sore, unused legs were not conditioned for body weight (even the small amount the woman was made of) to depend on them abruptly, all in one moment, all at once. The Point was quick to catch her mid-drop, mid-grunt. Lock. Give out. L O C K. giveout. Ariadne's face contorted as she strained to keep her knees locked to stand up. Eventually, they did except her legs still shook uneasily. Arthur coaxed, "Hey…you need to lay back down. Your strength isn't fully restored yet." He tried to gently push her back onto the bed too, "Here, let's try some cookies," but she pulled his hands away from her. So he wouldn't appear aggressive or forceful and thus lose more of her trust, Arthur backed off. She took a step with a grit of her teeth; she wavered and had to use the bed as a crutch but compelled herself to keep going. It was wobbly but she managed to pull herself out of her room and down the hall—using the wall for leverage. Arthur followed closely behind with hands ready to gather her up especially as she descended the stairs.

Eames thought it was Arthur when the figure turned the corner. And it was but the tiny Parisian had come first. He and Yusuf had just eaten their lunch. The empty plates with sandwich crumbs and grape stems sat stacked on the coffee table. The tv was on but the volume was inaudible; it was mostly moving pictures that they'd both abandoned. Eames for a Men's Health magazine and Yusuf to play Solitatire with a box of cards he'd found in one of the drawers. Upon hearing the creaking of the stairs, the Forger turned, "Any luck?" It was like an apparition. A small body encompassed in a burgundy cowl was hobbling down the stairs and crossing over to them in a daze but up and about nonetheless. His wide, shocked eyes met Arthur's—The Point was speechless and flinched each time she bobbled. Yusuf felt an elbow in his rib. After a glare at Eames he, too, swiveled to see Arthur and instead saw The Architect doing her best to maneuver through the room. "She shouldn't be up."

Her surroundings caused her concentration to drift. Ariadne's eyes latched on to the tv expecting it to be recording the static lives of strangers around the world. Slightly, her eyebrows wrinkled. There was no time stamp or location coordinate in the bottom corner. No, there was a plump man with red hair and a red goatee talking and tossing a pan of stir fry. A few blinks. It didn't seem to change. He kept smiling and moving his lips, seasoning the food, wiping his hands on his apron. She'd reached the arm of the sofa as it cut to commercial and the man disappeared so that another could rave about the new scent of Febreeze and inform her where she could buy it. The feeling of being watched was something she knew like the back of her hand. Her focal point fell to the curly haired man of Indian descent she'd sensed was ogling her.

Gradual, diminutive recognition. Whether she remembered him as the medically inclined Doctor-ish man who'd tested her blood and advised actions to take for her health or the awkward, modest, friend/chemist she used to stick up for, he couldn't decipher. The more she searched his pupils the more he was convinced it was the latter. Yusuf offered a soft tight lipped smile and an, "Are you feeling better?" If she accepted it, it was with two blinks and silence. Her eyes cut to the gaping Mr. Eames. She eyed him harder than she had Yusuf. The Architect's eyes narrowed and scanned him from hairline to jugular, from ear to ear. Her head tilted to the right, she blankly analyzed him some more and then her line of sight darted to the back of the couch. It was with the innocent curiosity of a child that her index and middle finger walked along the arm of the couch and then halfway across the back of it. Ariadne picked up walking again; her digits trailed behind her as if they could dissect and ascertain all of life's mysteries from absorbing them from the threads of the furniture. It was all sinking in. She wasn't a prisoner underground anymore. These were friends trying to help her, this was a house—cabin?, she hadn't been held down and used against her will in days, there were lights and ceiling fans and tvs and real furniture. Comfortable furniture. Doors that led to the outside, to the world that held the offer of leaving if she wanted it.

The flash of the television screen when the Italian chef came back brought a reminder with it. Light. Redemption. She felt hope…and Arthur hovering behind. Her head whizzed around until it happened upon the front door and then she pushed away. She reached it gratefully and fought in confusion to unlock all of the dead bolts. "Ariadne, what are you doing?" The Architect could tell she was alarming him—well Eames and Yusuf too for that matter; they had gotten up from their seats and tailed behind the Point Man. And who could only be Cobb came out of his room. Ignoring them she opened the door and stepped onto the porch. It looked like they were on private property. There was lush grass on the ground everywhere she turned and trees fencing the property in at the edge of the hilly, dirt paved driveway and going for miles. Best of all, there was the most beautiful, luminous, virtuous light brightening up the expanse of the sky and the air and the ground and the world. The men stepped onto the porch with her as her breathing deepened. The fire in her lungs from the fresh air felt amazing; her entire attention span zoned in on the yellowish white sun as it pulled her out into the front yard like a moth to a light bulb. Ariadne's name was called numerous times behind her. They were nervous, baffled, a bit scared…there were more than one set of footsteps in the grass but none of it mattered. She was _outside_, the sun was _shining on her_, the birds were _chirping,_ she was surrounding by _life._ Petite hands floated up from her sides to the worn hood.

And pulled it off of her head.

Right away she'd had to squint her eyes from the increased exposure to the sun's light. The ache and the watering in them was welcomed however because Persephone had been brought back up to the flowery fields of her mother and the woes of Hades and his underworld were fading away. She didn't want that Hood to hinder her reunion with the sun in the least. Ariadne didn't want to hide from it. She wanted it to see her for what she'd become and give her back what she used to be. Slowly, the heat of the center of the solar system reached and dipped inside her, making her sweat. In this moment, the light was so encompassing, she believed the darkness—even of her own shadow—couldn't touch her. So with a few gulps of courage and blind (almost literally) faith, she tugged off the entirety of the cloak and let it drop to the grass.

The baby yellow of her pj pants and the light blue of Arthur's large dress shirt billowed behind her along with her limp curls. The Architect stood with her head leaned back, soaking in the sun. Arthur couldn't help but stand at her side and examine her. And once he'd realized she had not fallen but sat down with crossed legs intentionally, he copied. It was the most coherent he'd witnessed her being. Her hands (which had been resting on her knees) unfolded and opened towards the sun like she was letting it in to take all things Ariadne away…Or maybe she was welcoming them back.

As if noticing the ground for the first time, she sought it out and pressed her palm against the wet soil, combed her fingers through the grass like it was hair. And then returning her gaze to the star in the sky, she laid down and attempted to recall every shade of blue the sky could match and if she'd ever seen a more vibrant version than the one she was graced with. Was it always this vivid or was it a gift to show her that the world had not ended in her time away? Was the sky showing off for her? Ariadne believed it was with its pillows of clouds beckoning her to them, promising to wrap her up in a security she had forgotten could exist. The sun's beams seemed to be placing her flesh back on the bone and sewing her up. And the breeze…the breeze brushed her face, swept across her toasty warm body like a hand; if she closed her eyes she could imagine herself at seven years old. Laid out by the fireplace, her head resting in her Maman's lap, the woman's fingers playing with her brunette tresses and caressing her cheek as she sang her a lullaby. Red missed being Ariadne. She breathily sang a melody to herself:

"_So if I should visit the moon, well I'd dance on a moonbeam and then  
I would make a wish on star and I'd wish I was home once again  
Oh, I'd like to look down on the earth from above  
But I'd miss all the places and people I love  
So although I may go…  
I'll be coming home soon.  
Cause I don't wanna live on the moon.  
No, I don't wanna live on the moon."_

He didn't break away from her to look back at Eames and Yusuf and Cobb. He knew they were just as mesmerized by her as she was by the sun. When the Architect had stretched out on the grass, so had he. What was she seeing with her eyes? What was she feeling? What was this meaning to her? Was it of some comfort? It was a joy to observe her as she finally relaxed. As she opened herself up—if not to them, than at least to something. The sky was a miracle, a healer; it had moved her to rid herself of the cloak and the baggage that hung over her head when the hood did. When she began to lightly whisper their lullaby to herself Arthur's soul began to clench and his eyes water. He had heard the Hood when it screamed at him in drug induced fury, he had heard the manic prisoner over the payphone, and he'd heard the raspy debilitated victim of horror on his computer screen. But he hadn't heard his sweet Ariadne since they separated…not until that moment. Everything that could've, would've, almost, might've, and _did _happen to her played like a movie in front of him. The women he'd heard: nervous and rushed, broken and scared, livid and blameful…they weren't different women. They were not girls he wasn't familiar with, none of them new, none of them strangers. They were all Ariadne. They were this Ariadne. _His _Ariadne. The Hoods had turned the kind, softhearted, good-natured, go get them Ariadne into pieces and all of those pieces became all of those horrific sounding women. There was a blinked back tear for every tiny broken piece he vowed to paste back together. He sniffed and unexpectedly her head turned to look at him. Arthur tried to bat the evidence in his eyes away and smile comfortingly at her. Upon seeing it, she scrunched her face and creased her eyebrows. Ariadne studied him. She would roll away from him, he was certain. She would reach for her cowl and hide herself away from him again.

But she didn't.

Ariadne extended her arm and wiped his cheek with the pad of her thumb, "Don't cry."

Then in a flash, her eyes were closed and her arms were back at her sides and she was basking in the glory that was the second chance—the escape—the atmosphere had given her.  
xxxxxx

Ariadne had been more receptive to the boys. There had not been a word to fall from her lips since she told Arthur not to cry in the grass but she acknowledged them when they asked her questions and deserted her dependence on the hood. If they hadn't wanted to refrain from giving away their location by smoke signal than the Point would have burned it. She hadn't asked but they decided to open all the curtains as soon as the sun came out to flood her room with the medicine of light and at night they would close them up but turn on a lamp and her bathroom light so she would never be in total darkness again. The Architect seemed to appreciate them for it. Cobb had dropped out to check on Miles and the kids for two weeks and was now back in. He brought some necessities Arthur had requested he bring for her. Including clothes she'd be more comfortable in. Socks, leggings, sweats, pajama pants, tshirts, sweatshirts, scarves…and then some things the team figured would lift her spirits even more: Some 'Get Better' drawings from James and Philippa, a throw blanket and a collection of sketchbooks and art supplies.

She drew nonstop. Filled pages front and back with watercolors, chalk, oil pastels, colored pencils, markers, you name it. But she kept them under her pillow and if one of the men came in as she was working she would shut the book and wait until they departed to resume. They had their theories.

"I'm sure they hold an abstract meaning to her of what she's been through. Like therapy or something…" Cobb stood at the kitchen counter while Arthur cooked a healthy portion of vegetables and Eames slapped together a grilled cheese. Yusuf sat on one of the stools and tuned in and out to the tv across the way while keeping an eye on the girl they'd helped down to the couch for a change of scenery.

Eames flipped the sandwich and cleared his throat, "Well I'm nosy. I'm used to the girl talking her head off at me; I want to know what's going on up those stairs."

The Chemist hummed. Arthur spoke up, "What if…what if they've done some work to her brain? Through dream share methods?" Eames took the spatula and pointed it at Cobb, "Yeah. What bout that?" The Point continued, "I understand her not wanting to relive it by speaking about it—especially to a group of men, to me, but what if that's not all it is?" The broccoli and carrots browned as he prodded through them again, "There are still so many mysteries. We want to help to her but how can we even begin to identify how if we don't know half the story."

"You know _half _of it…" said the Chemist, eyes still rooted on the girl.

"I know she was taken against her will. I know she called me for help."

The Englishman added while sliding the sandwich onto a plate for her, "We know they mistreated her and they're all fruit loops."

"But we—"

Dom interrupted Arthur before he went further. He had a pretty solid inkling on what he would declare, "You don't want to know everything they did to her Arthur. You think you do but you don't."

Eames set the plate on the counter by the Point so he could distribute her vegetables onto it when they were ready and then went to make her a drink. (First, he inquired what would be best and Yusuf suggested trying milk that time.) Meanwhile, Arthur, found himself arguing with his best friend _again, _"I need to know."

"You wouldn't be able to handle it." With a cross of his arms, Dom leant against the counter as he found himself arguing with his best friend _again._ "_She _can hardly handle it much less process it."

There was a slow trickling sound of milk into a glass, "And we all know when it comes to things happening to _that_ one," Eames inserted, "She's the one who deals with and accepts it and you're the one who goes to pieces over it." The fridge closed with a thud.

The Point sighed and chanced a look at her. She was posed Indian style on the sofa with her head buried in her art and her pencil top wiggling back and forth, "I want to make it all go away."

"We all do." Yusuf shrugged. The stove top was turned off and Arthur scooped a heap of veggies next to the cooled grilled cheese. He made to grab the glass of milk and go serve her dinner but Cobb told him to let Yusuf do it so he could talk to Arthur and Eames about something. See when they gave her food, they usually supervised in case she got sick, or accidentally jabbed herself with a utensil, spilled something or went into a panic attack. And sometimes the glasses were too heavy or her hands got too shaky to stab food with the fork. They waited until the Indian man plopped by her, she put away her book and he tore her sandwich in half for her.

Cobb walked around to have a seat on the stool Yusuf had previously occupied and the other two sat in the ones remaining. "I talked to Saito."

"Does he have an in? Does he know where exactly they're located?" jumped Arthur.

"No. But he _is _familiar with the Hoods. He's confident that his company is on the hit-list. After Fischer-Morrow went down, he became the new head of the energy industry…not far from the fuel companies they've been attacking."

Eames chided sarcastically, "Well that's great. Soon we'll have a dead Saito on our hands." It came out louder than they anticipated. Three pairs of eyes shot to the Architect to check if she'd heard. She appeared not to. She was looking down and nibbling on a corner of bread but Yusuf warned them with a stern look and grabbed the remote to turn the volume on the tv louder.

The suited one resumed the conversation, "So…what? Does he expect us to become his bodyguards because I'm booked."

"No. He's offering to be Ariadne's. We've got a secured location in Japan we can send her to be rehabilitated in." From his back pocket he pulled out a folded piece of college ruled paper with scribbles on it. There was an address, a phone number and a few instructions scrawled out. He flipped it to the back and there was a hurried hand drawn map he pointed to, "Asuka. It's a quiet village just outside of Osaka. Mostly farming and archaeologically interesting sites. Not a huge tourist attractor but it's not completely unknown. The security would be easy, you can see for miles. Saito has already bought out some acreage where a modest tourist lodging facility was." He pointed to a small rectangle amidst other geometrical shapes.

Arthur's hand slid it across the countertop to take a better view at it. He was already shaking his head before he'd even considered it, "Why would I send her to be kept under Saito's care when you opened up the proposal by telling me he's high on the Hood hit list?" He rotated the scrap to review it from another angle, "And the suggestion that I'd be parted from her? No."

"You'd have to be if we want to bring the Hood's organization down. It's possible with an army of Saito's men. His company employees from the branches in the Orient alone, outnumber them. And he's almost certain that one of their sister companies would donate their resources and men to the cause…We'd need you to research some things and check our math but he and I projected that we could have a sturdy plan of attack in seventh months."

Eames' eyes narrowed and looked at the map over Arthur's shoulder, "And Ari would be…"

"Safely being nursed back to physical and mental health until there is no threat and we can come retrieve her."

Nodding like it was an obvious answer and he expected more, The Forger continued to make Cobb clarify, "Yes, yes, but who would she be with? Can we trust them?" Then he quickly added when the Extractor opened his mouth, "Trust them as much as ourselves…?"

"It's a leap of faith but Saito has never given us reason to doubt." He could tell that answer was not concrete enough to fly so he stuttered and used his hands to gesture as if it would be more reassuring, "Th- they would be certified doctors…most of them women if we requested such."

Arthur looked back to gauge the Brit's reaction. Eames was as wary as he. The Point shook his head, "I can't pull myself away from her Dom. Not when she needs me the most. Not again."

"This is _for _her. It would be good. She doesn't need four men with no clue how to help hovering over her and wasting time by tip toeing around. She needs medical attention from professionals. Yusuf is great but he's no psychiatrist."

Eames countered, "She needs people she feels comfortable around."

"Arthur," Dom clasped his hands together made a pointed plop of them on the counter, "Would you rather spend an eternity having to hide away this mute, always frightened, new Ariadne? Or spend seven months apart, eliminate the threat permanently and come back to the old one?"

The television's background noise got noticeably louder. Cobb looked back over his shoulder at another one of Yusuf's upset, scolding glares. The Architect was however staring at the box and slowly chewing. Roughly, Arthur rubbed his hands over his face, "When would we leave?"

"Tomorrow." He ignored the rolling of Eames' eyes. "I've got tickets for the three of us. Yusuf would have to stay with her until Wednesday when Saito can sneak over some men to escort her into Asuka. Then he'd be accompanied to Osaka to join us—if he wants." Cobb pulled an envelope of boarding passes from his jacket pocket while Eames and Arthur stole glances at Ariadne like they would be the last.

They thought she couldn't hear the conversation. Just because she feigned indifference didn't mean she was deaf. Even as Yusuf turned up the volume so she wouldn't hear (like she was a child who shouldn't eavesdrop on adult topics) she strained to listen. And she'd comprehended every word. Ariadne hadn't been visibly grateful enough, she'd been too closed off (she couldn't help it. Really. She couldn't!) and now they were going to give up on her. Her team was going to put her into the hands of more strangers. Trust her with more people who claimed to want to better the world. 'A _secured _facility.' It sounded like another dungeon, another prison, another cold reality she couldn't flee from. More walls to fill with darkness and block her off from the sun. The Architect's breaths quickened and her stomach wound tight. Wolffe would find her. The Hoods would find her there. Only her team was advanced enough, careful, sharp and fast-reacting enough to keep her concealed. The sofa felt like it was eating her. Like wet, fuzzy, holes were opening up and sucking her into the cushions. Ariadne couldn't help but lean back into them, to sink into the nightmare of it. Her eyes fell closed and she laid her head back feeling like she was pushed and now freefalling through infinity. Growls of hungry dogs and girlish screams chased her down the rabbit hole.

"Are you done?"

Brown pupils shot open. Even now. Even when her silence is surely what caused them to decide to abandon her, she couldn't speak to him. Couldn't convey the feelings surging throughout her. She looked to her plate. To the tv. To the heads of two blondes and one brunette in the kitchen then Yusuf and nodded numbly. He looked her over, her position against the furniture and proposed, "Why don't I help you upstairs…you look tired." Tingles resonated in her toes, her fingers, it was hard to swallow, her face flushed…this was it. The Architect would go to sleep and wake up to find her friends gone. All dreams of being restored to herself ripped away and traveling with them. Shell shocked and mind filled with alarming 'what if's,' she allowed the Chemist to guide her up the stairs and tuck her into bed.

Xxxxxx

The Chemist had forgotten to close her curtains but remembered to turn on several lights for her comfort. Maybe her panic attack at dinner had overly exhausted her because when Yusuf closed her door, her body melted into the sheets and she drifted off. Once the sunset had gone to sleep behind the horizon, so had Ariadne. And she slept contentedly for a good few hours. The wind howled through the trees, the wood on the side of the house creaked and cracked but for once she slept through it. Then-

Click.

Her eyes fluttered open and darted to the doorway. The hallway was filled with shadows. Arthur hadn't come upstairs yet. When he came up to his room he usually turned on the plugin hallway lights and kept one of the lamps in his room on in case she needed him so she wouldn't be afraid to navigate the halls and get to him. Not that she ever did but the sentiment was there. Another click. She forced words out, however, she wasn't brave enough to make them above a whisper, "Yusuf?"

Clank.

Her heart stopped. Because the noise wasn't coming from the hall, it was coming from beside her head. It was a subtle collision of an object on her window. Then there was the sound of sawing against metal. Ariadne didn't dare move to look. Her windows were still wide open. The Architect inhaled two chasm-deep breaths and whispered harsher (perhaps one of them was coming up the stairs or roaming the upstairs and they just hadn't gotten to the lights yet) "Y-Yusuf!" The sawing paused. Her thoughts paused. Eerie silence bounced around. The sawing continued…she alarmingly squeaked, "Yusuf! Eames!"  
xxxxxx

They were all downstairs. Yusuf and Eames' bunk-bed room and the one Cobb was using were both downstairs. The Chemist had retired to his for the night. Cobb and Eames were in the study behind the kitchen reading up on more info about Asuka and the establishment. Saito had said he would send pictures that night so Arthur could look over them before their departure but after another page refresh, they deduced he hadn't sent them yet. Arthur was spread out on the couch, laptop in his lap, researching fast ways of transportation between Osaka and Asuka or if there were any closer cities the team could do their work. He shifted again. Something was jabbing him in his lower back. Arthur felt around behind him and grasped a corner of…a book? He pulled it out from behind him: Moleskine, two blue flowers imprinted on the front. It was Ariadne's sketchbook. He probably shouldn't have opened it and flipped through the pages. He reprimanded himself…cautioned that he should wait for her to reveal it to him when she was ready. His hands had a mind of their own. He closed his laptop and thumbed through the drawings. They were disturbing and vivid in color. Lots of reds, browns, blacks, greys and greens. And mostly…starring a childhood fairy tale favorite: Little Red Riding Hood.

The first page was filled with the face of a girl. Red coming off the corners and behind her hair. Her eyes were closed. And words filled the hood on her head: _Hey there Little Red Riding Hood. You sure are looking good. You're everything a big bad Wolf could want. _The next page was a landscape of a forest or some woods. The ground was barren and the trees were stripped. Arthur had to look hard to spot a shadow on the ground between the sticks and then a hidden hooded figure behind a tree, crouched down, back facing the onlooker with one hand held out from behind the trunk. And in the hand…a golden bishop. The next page was of a small, childish figure in what looked like a red raincoat with a hood over it. It was a side profile but brown curls fell out of the jacket. The little one donned a backpack, jeans and boots. Towering over her in the midst of the murky, raining woods scene was a huge Wolf baring it's teeth down at her, its breath leaving streams of smoke in the atmosphere. The words in the grass said: _I don't think little big girls should go walking in those spooky old Woods alone. _ Arthur narrowed his eyes at the theme and turned a couple pages. He stopped on another one of Little Red. A modern day take. She wore a blue dress and converses and the same red cloak but was backed half off the edge of the page with a hand extended out in the universal signal for stop. Walking towards her was a personified Wolf. It had a man's body but a Wolf's head, paws and claws for feet and hands. It held out a jar filled to the brim with a mangled heart. A speech bubble spurted from its leering jaws: _What a big heart I have. The better to love you with._

There was one with another variation of the girlish character holding a lantern up in one hand and clutching a chess piece in the other fist as she stood inside the open jaws of a dog's mouth. An additional page had a girl standing in a short sleeved red dress with a hood. She held her head in her hands as red eyes and animal ears lurked in the shadows. There were several haunting paintings and sketches of the character Ariadne had identified herself as in various positions of running or hiding with beasts coming out of the darkness or forming out of trees, her Hood sometimes manifesting itself out of her blood. Shaking his head, he took his thumb and breezed through the pages…each was different but the message, the aura, the intention was the same. His eyes caught the colored pencil sketch of a suit and gelled black hair-  
xxxxxx

The sawing sped up gradually until she heard a loud pop and felt a gust of wind as her window flew open. Ariadne's eyes glued shut and she wrenched at the sheets to pull over her head. Two memorable mitts coiled around her wrists before she could do so and pulled her up to the face of blackness. "Hey there, Little Red…" _Shit.  
_She reacted like a deer in headlights. Her entire body froze up, rendered her incapable of breathing. Her pupils dilated and as old Brown friends slipped in through her window and filled her room she tried to call out, "Ar—Arth—" They were barely hisses. The bulky paw covered her mouth and his heavy, domineering body pressed on top of hers. "Shh…" The Architect whimpered when he devoured her ear. "Mm..I've missed you." The Browns were filing out. As her body regained its ability to move, she started to try and wriggle out from underneath him. "I was so worried…I thought you were dead." His legs straddled her waist to keep her detained and his hands started to move over her as if she'd never left the pit in the woods. "Thank God for the local news…" He pressed against her harder and chewed on one of the healing bites by her collar bone. The Architect's eyes darted to the doorway, the Brown Hoods were cocking guns and disappearing into the house…She found the courage to make noise. They were muffled and more of "AMPHR! AMS! CMMB!"

Wolffe's hand felt as if it would cave in her skull as he squeezed his hand against her jaw, "Shh…."

xxxxxx

Arthur looked back several pages until he found it. The picture was the back of a tall, thin, man in an immaculate grey suit and slicked back black hair. In his hand (hanging by his side) was a handgun and at his feet was a crumpled, dead, wolf, lying with his back towards the man, a puddle of blood pooling around it and streaming towards his shiny black shoes. In her bubbly hand is written: _He scoffs, He sneers, One eye flickers. He pulls a weapon from his knickers. He aims it at the creature's head…and BANG. BANG. BANG. Arthur shoots him dead._

The next page over the same thin suited figure was accompanied by a shorter (very tacky) blonde fellow. He assumed it was Eames from the tan pant suit and pink shirt. There was a giant, monstrous, wolf hanging upside down from its feet and the two men were gutting it open with knives, revealing a curled up Little Red (clutching another golden bishop) inside its stomach. Arthur blinked. There were indeed some deep rooted issues buried in those pages. But at least she had seemed to start picturing he and Eames as helpers or rescuers…so she didn't completely hate him as suspected. He closed the book, rubbed his face, and started to restart his research when he heard _AMPHR…AMS… CMMB…_ but they were so low he felt like he was imagining things. His hand went to his gun on the coffee table but he dropped it and opted to turn the tv down instead. Sometimes the team mumbled in their sleep. Yusuf was in his bedroom, it was probably that or Dom and Mr. Eames talking in the study.

Speaking of the study: A figure crept up behind the two men huddled in front of the computer.  
xxxxxx

"Oh…oh, _Red_…" the woman kicked her legs and twisted her head away from his sloppy, open mouthed, attentions. Then she heard four unmistakable: POW. POW. POW. POW. Gunshots…the Hoods had snuck down and shot her protectors…what would she do now? She pounded at Wolffe's chest and writhed underneath him…finally when the anxiety and terror and adrenaline created a cocktail in her she thrust her head forward and butted the Black Hood in the head. He rocked back for a second to grasp at it, groaning—howling- and she used that opportunity to grab the front of his shirt and used all the strength she could muster in her weakened state to roll over and throw them into the floor, this time, her on top and in control.  
xxxxxx

Cobb clicked the link to the page their Asian friend had finally sent. The Forger—sensed a presence behind. He glanced over his shoulder, "That looks nice…is that where we're sending Ari?"

Eames nodded at the Chemist. Cobb called, peered at the screen and scrolled down to the virtual tour option provided, "I think she'll be happy there. They have a greenhouse she can sit in..."

_THUMP._

The three men looked up at the ceiling.  
xxxxxxx

She face planted on the ground, the breath knocked out of her. Her eyes shot open and she squirmed on the ground as the feeling of Wolffe underneath her faded into the white carpet. She pushed herself up. She grabbed her knees. Ariadne, in complete terror, darted her eyes around the room. It was empty. Her blinds and curtains were closed. The lights in the hallway were flickered on. Through the air her hand flew to the table by her bed for her totem—it toppled to the ground. She shook her head…did she have time to check it? No. Ariadne seemed alone but couldn't shake the feeling of her nightmare. In a split second, she was off the ground and a blood curdling, glass shattering scream echoed through the safe house.  
xxxxxx

"Arthur!"

The Point Man hurdled off the couch; the laptop crashed into the coffee table legs. He yanked his gun up, cocked it and sprinted to the stairs. _THUMPthumpthumpTHUMPthumpthumpTHUMPTHUMPthump. _The rhythm of sounds emitting through the ceiling matched that of his heartbeat as he raced. He heard her call him again, same bone chilling pitch and fright. "ARTHUR!"

"Ariadne!" He stumbled over himself to round the corner and start up the steps. She was already scrambling down them and collided into him on the landing. Arthur looked over her shoulder and scanned the upper level with scrutiny. His hands rested on her hips for comfort but he was distracted, "What's happened? Is someone up there?"

She wrapped her arms around his neck like a boa constrictor around its prey and buried her face in it. Out of all her panic, he was shocked when her answer was, "N-no. There's no-, There's n-no-one."

Yusuf, Cobb and Eames came dashing with weapons drawn themselves. All three huffing, puffing, eyeing their surroundings. "What happened?" Eames and Cobb skirted around them and went upstairs to search the area for anyone.

The Point pulled her back just enough to look her in the eyes, "What's wrong?" He was as scared as she was at that point. Of what…he wasn't getting the answer to, "Ari…what-?" She burst into tears and hung on him. Half in relief that they weren't all shot, half in relief it was all a dream. And then the desperation of not wanting to be separated from the only people she could trust encompassed all of it. Whereas before she was unable to speak to them now it all poured out, "Don't leave. Please don't leave me again…don't go."

"I'm—" He tried to interlude. To calm her down. Had she heard what Cobb had suggested at dinner? They slid against the wall to the ground. His gun unused and deserted on the floor and The Architect clinging to him, practically in his lap.

"Don't send me off to Japan without you…" Ariadne could barely choke the words out over her frightened sobs. Her fists clenched the collar of his shirt, "Don't leave me again, Arthur. _Please_."

The 'again' part is what really needled him. "No. I wont—"

"They'll find me. _He'll_ find me. I need you…"

He ignored the other men. The Point hugged her to him; she finally needed _him _and he'd be damned if he ignored that and handed her to someone else. With one hand pressed on the back of her head, he kissed her hair, "I'm not going anywhere. I promise." He eyed Cobb who stood at the top of the stairs, "I won't ever leave you."

**Next Chapter: Ari/Art have a heart to heart and a plan is hatched.  
Review please.**


	17. Certain

Thank you: _Lauraa-x _and _CoffeeFilters! _

**Chapter 17: Certain.**

Arthur and Ariadne sat against the headboard in her room. The nightmare made her glue herself to him to feel a sense of security so she held his right arm like a stuffed animal. She wouldn't let him leave her for anything; he assured her he would stay the night and keep watch for her while she slept as she hinted that the nature of her dream involved a break in by her window. The Point kept his ears keened to the outside but only heard the crickets and occasional frog out in the surrounding forest. He could hear the tv downstairs. Eames tended to stay up late and watch random movies every night. Arthur thought she'd been asleep when she chimed, "I'm sorry."

He looked down from the fuzzy looking wall to the top of her head, "For what?" Her fingers picked at his forearm, like a pinch but less force, "Don't ever apologize to me—or anyone-for any of it. You are not the guilty one." His free hand patted one of hers, "Understand?"

"But pushing you away we first got here…" She looked up at him, "all those things I said when you took away the Somnacin…"

Arthur furrowed his eyebrows. Tried not to recall the things she said, "Don't worry about it."

"They weren't true. I didn't mean al—"Ariadne stopped. Because well, some of it (while harsh) was true. She reworded, "I don't blame you. This wasn't your fault."

He caught the catch. He knew as well as she did what she'd exaggerated and what had been awful truth. He tried to explain himself. To set the record straight and make it clear why he separated them. He inclined his head towards hers, "Ari, when I left…I wasn't abandoning you. In my mind, I was setting you free."

Ariadne's head bobbled up and down but she couldn't maintain the eye contact. They dropped to her lap, "I know. I know there was more to it."

He tripped over his words and how to rearrange them. This was the first real conversation they'd had in months and a chance for him to air things out; he didn't want to screw it up. He felt his hands get clammy. "And I know I took long. I _was_ trying, I was trying to find you." He waited until she glanced back up at him, "Do you really think I didn't come running after you'd called?"

"I—," her speech faltered. The Point Man was released from her grip as she sat up to face him. There was something so habitual in the way she tucked her legs under her, just like when they would have midnight chats in bed before the breakup. He took the time to mull over the brownish circles of healing teeth marks on her neck and the slight semi-circle along the bone of her eye socket that suggested her black eye was near gone. The corner of her lip looked as it had when they came to retrieve her from the Maus'. Scabby. She reopened the wound daily from chewing on her lips. Cobb had brought back some Vaseline upon Yusuf's request to keep it moisturized and less susceptible to cracking open. Arthur felt a vibe of regret, of remorse radiating from her pores, "I hurt you when I said no. When I told you I didn't want to give up dreaming to be together."

Indeed she had. That night in Paris, he poured out his beating heart to her and offered everything he had (and everything he didn't but would bend heaven and earth to procure if she wanted it) if she wanted him as much as he needed her in effort to keep her safe and stay together. Arthur wanted to get married, to have children, to settle down and grow old together...That was his dream; to draw and create freely was hers. But no matter how much it hurt, Ariadne was carved into the four chambers of his most vital organ and her rejection couldn't change that. "I would never turn my back on you. No matter what." That was proven. Ariadne had chosen dreaming over him and he jumped at her call. She'd yelled and screamed and blamed him, insisted she hated his guts and he was still here. Ariadne could do anything and he'd be there if she needed him. Arthur was ruined.

But he didn't really mind.

"I know. But after a while…" She stopped in her tracks and closed up like a clam. Ariadne dropped their gaze, laid back down and turned away from him. Had he said something? Had he looked at her the wrong way? Sometimes he did that without being aware. Arthur gave her a few minutes before he opened his mouth. "I wasn't worth coming after." Ariadne whispered. All he could do was choke out his disbelief, "What?"

Ariadne would still not roll over. After a shaky breath she proceeded matter of factly, "I'm a skeleton, Arthur. I'm a shell. The things I've—" Her Point Man couldn't see but hers eyes clenched shut and her fist gripped the fitted sheet beneath her, "The things I've been made to—" What Arthur _could_ see was her left hand smack over her ear and the finger weave through and pull at her hair. "I'm a murderer. And a torturer. And a slave. And a- whore." The brittle strength of her vocal chords faltered with that word and a dry sob came tumbling out.

That struck Arthur by surprise. None of that could be true. He wanted to rest his hand on her shoulder but it fell short and rested on the empty side of her pillow; he feared that personal contact would cause her to close off from him further. That she might go back to the moon and deny his existence any acknowledgement again. "No. No you're not."

"Yes, I am." Ariadne found the solid chord and gritted out almost spitefully. Like she believed he was lying to her just to be polite. He saw her how he wanted to and not how she was. "You know I am. And I know you know because I see it in your face when you look at me." He was going to interrupt her at the second phrase but was startled into silence at the last. Arthur ran through his mind and tried to find a time where he'd looked at her like she was one of those things. He couldn't find one. The Point always looked at her like she was the most precious thing in the world because he thought he'd lost her too many times before. She continued speaking, "_Every _time I can see how revolting I am to you."

"No." This time he actually touches her and tugs lightly, "Look at me again. That is not how I see you. If I feel any revulsion it's towards those bastards who forced you into their mess. Or towards myself for not getting to you sooner."

The Architect refused to shift position and look at him, "I didn't want you to come." A heavy boulder slid down through his chest and into his stomach. "My friend said you were searching for me and she would try to help me get to you and I just wanted to die." That word pulled Arthur closer, his hand now rubbing her shoulder. He folded around her as closely as he could without actually spooning her. Since she had asked Dom about putting her out of her misery, any time death was brought up he wanted to attach himself to her and keep her from even thinking it with sheer will power. "I would've rather died a million deaths than for you to have to see me like this. To have to nurse me like a toddler, to have to change bandages on my genitals and pull me through a drug addiction. It's humiliating."

He pulled away reluctantly and sat back against the headboard when she finally rolled to her back. Her eyes stared fixedly on the popcorn ceiling. Arthur looked intently down at her and reassured, "I don't mind. Remember? You told me I would fix you if you returned broken."

"And remember _you _said there would be a day when I came back beyond repair." His eyes searched hers incredulously. His girl was always the optimistic one…without her buoyancy, he felt like he was drowning. "I've been stripped and skinned and slaughtered and minced-I'm filthy. And no matter how hard I scrub, no matter how long I soak or how many times you draw me a bath—I'm this grimy, ugly, carcass. There aren't any pieces left of Ariadne for you to glue back together." The rims of her eyes were swollen from the deluge of tears though her voice implied she was still (roughly) held together.

Arthur slid his thumb from her temple to her chin with moisture in his own eyes, "You're still my gorgeous girl."

Her head shook helplessly and the heels of her hands came up to dig the water out of her tear ducts, "I'm a slab of degradation." Ariadne found a steady rhythm of breathing again and finally looked at him sternly, "I'm not worth your time or the effort. And I'm sorry that I'm so terrified that I begged you to stay and waste more of it."

The Architect felt herself drawn in closer to Arthur. They settled into the customary position where her head laid on his chest. The man sucked in a breath as her hand ghosted across his torso and she rested her arm on him. One of his hands cautiously covered over it and the other snaked around her back. In this proximity he could feel the irregular pattern of her breathing and the warmth of her weeping through his shirt. After a deep inhale of the scent of her hair, he murmured resolutely, "If you were a brain dead vegetable right now, I would still spend all my time and give all my efforts to you. I would lay here by your side until I rotted, regardless." She seemed to have accepted it. Or at least accepted not to argue with him. The waterworks died down and they melted further into their embrace. He still felt random, warm drops patter on his chest in increments so Arthur began mindlessly fiddling with her hair.

"I was pregnant…" Simple statement. Devoid of motive.

"I know." Simple answer. Devoid of emotion.

"He aborted it." Ariadne's arm briefly left him to brush over her stomach and then return, "I didn't have a choice. He hated her—"

Arthur's ears perked up as she looked up at him. "Her?" Not only had Arthur wanted a child with Ariadne; he had described a little girl when he was trying to persuade her with the image of a picturesque life without dream share. One that would share both of their traits but look mostly like Ari so he could freely spoil their mini Architect like her mother chastised him for spoiling her. The Architect only nodded. She wasn't focused on discussing the gender as much as she was on explaining how it was taken from her,"Wolffe wanted it dead so he found a way." Her scabbed over wounds from the coat hanger seemed to throb as she recalled the memory. Her legs rubbed together and then her knees curled up to her chest and against his leg. The pain was in her mind…

It enraged Arthur how ungrateful this Wolffe man had been. "How could you hate a life you created with the woman you profess to love?" It was one of the things Arthur wanted most. It made him all giddy and dimply when he thought about the prospect of conceiving life with her. To (for once) be able to _help_ Ariadne _create. _ Create something beautiful. Something of the both of theirs. Not only had Wolffe had a baby (even though Arthur plotted a million ways to kill him for the way he'd done it) but it was a girl. Exactly what Arthur imagined. Why the hell would he throw that away? Why would he destroy something so miraculous and perfect? "See, if she had been mine…"

Ariadne's eyes went from meeting his gaze to telling something with hers. Her look went from passive to pointed and she sat up. Great, there was a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. His head tilted, "Ariadne?"

"It wasn't his…I was _four_ months along." She kept staring intently in his eyes and making him feel more and more uncomfortable.

"I'm aware but W—"

She was firm. Confident in her negativity. Certain. "The first time Wolffe—" of course she couldn't voice it. But Arthur knew so she didn't have to. She marched on, "it had only been three months since then."

Arthur shot away from her stare; his vision blurred from his eyes shooting back and forth along the edge of the bed, "But that's impossible. We—we broke up." Could it have been another Hood? Could it have been Ingams? Could she have been with someone shortly after he left? Because she wouldn't have cheated when they were still an item…"How—"

"The night I came home from Russia?" Ariadne inquired if he remembered. And he certainly did. They'd just had a tussle but hadn't seen each other in a couple months. He'd gone a week thinking she might be dead. They were in such a rush, so in the heat of the moment—they'd just missed each other so much they weren't even thinking. He didn't put on—The Point Man's eyes widened like saucers and his eyes darted to hers. Ariadne whispered sadly, "She was yours." Arthur's eyes welled up…and then he punched the mattress on the side farthest from her. Not only had Wolffe nearly killed Ariadne but he'd destroyed his baby. _His _baby. Then—if she'd been pregnant before she was even captured by the Hoods-

"You didn't know, did you? Please tell me you didn't let me leave knowing you were—"

"I didn't." Her answer sounded like a promise. "They all—I-just started noticing a week or so before I called you from the payphone. After that strike on Gatu he dragged me to a see one of the Hood's brothers whose a doctor. We thought it was Wolffe's…and he demanded a paternity test when they said how far along I was." Arthur's head shook profusely. "I think he would've left it alone if he hadn't seen how happy I was when I knew she was yours. It was almost like all of sudden I was strong and brave again. I had hope that everything might be ok and he wanted to destroy that. He wanted an abortion right there. I wouldn't consent. The Doctor didn't even have the tools to do it if he was threatened so Wolffe threw me back in the van and promised he'd find a way…" The Point gave her an empathetic look. "Even if that meant scraping her out with a coat hanger." She was getting worked up again so Arthur guided her back to their previous embrace and tried not let her see the grimace on his visage and the fumes streaming out of his ears._ His _baby? _Their _baby…Arthur wasn't sure whether he wanted to have a meltdown or find the Hoods that very second and squeeze the blood out of Wolffe like the juice out of a juicebox.

Ariadne hugged him tighter than before and they stayed silent. Marinated in their own separate thoughts for minutes on end. Then it was Arthur who broke through the quiet. "Would you have kept her? If you'd been home in Paris when you found out?" The Architect didn't delay in her answer. It was a definite and unyielding nod of her head, "Yes." She assumed he asked because she had told him she didn't want a baby to chase around the house. That she was too young to be boggled down by that and wanted more out of life before she catered to an infant. So she added, "Ready or not, I would have loved her."

"You think you might've contacted me and told me?" It was here that she gave pause. It was here that she hesitated in her reply. It was here that Arthur gathered she probably wouldn't have. Ariadne didn't give him a yes or no, she gave him an encrypted statement. "You would've come back."

"Yes," he trailed his finger along her arm, "I would have." She didn't seem happy with that thought. Would she not have told him because she didn't want him back but knew he wouldn't abandon her with his child? That he wouldn't stay away because he wanted to be in the child's life? The theories threatened to break his heart for the hundredth time.

Ariadne shrugged, "But only for the baby. You would've come back because you felt you had to."

No, the Point thought. It would've been a wonderful opportunity. It would've been a good excuse to come running back and pick up where they left off. It would've been a beacon of hope that they could get around their problems and a saving grace that kept them together. "Well it doesn't really matter _now_, I guess."

Xxxxxx

_The apartment is still and the light of the morning hasn't crawled through the blinds yet. Arthur keeps hold of the doorknob until the front door is shut and then lets it twist back. She's not expecting him back home for three days which is why there are books scattered about the coffee table and empty takeout boxes on the counter. This causes Arthur to chuckle. He noiselessly drops his duffel and satchel by the door, steps out of his shoes (meticulously lining them up at the mat after) and then shrugs off his trench coat before hanging it on the hook. He snickers again because her keys are hanging on the coat hooks and her University hoodie looks painfully shoved onto the hooks he put up for their key rings and its barely hanging on. The Point Man reaches back into his satchel and delicately removes the bouquet of peonies that transfixed him in the airport lobby and another plastic bag. Then he's in the kitchen: throwing away her takeout trash and cutting the stems to put them in a vase on their island/bar so they'll be the first thing she sees at breakfast. Then he opens the bag to re-inspect the refined fabric inside. Arthur had had some business to attend to with a former client in India. New Delhi to be exact. The last time they'd been there together Ariadne had been mesmerized by the sarongs she had to wear and bought one to bring home. The Architect didn't exactly throw it on to go to the grocery store or anything but she liked to drape it on the back of their sofa or the edge of their bed. The old one, while still pretty, was wearing out so he'd bought another in their color scheme. _

_Arthur folds it back up nicely and sets it by the flowers. On his way to their bedroom, he slides his suit jacket off and hangs it on the back of a chair, takes off his tie and unbuttons the top of his shirt. She's tangled up in their sheets, fast asleep with her hair all in her face. He pads closer and slides in next to her. She must feel the dip in the bed because she stirs. Ariadne's a heavy sleeper so that doesn't wake her up. He doesn't think it'll rouse her from sleep, so he slips his arms around her and kisses her cheek. This does wake her however. She looks over her shoulder at him with heavy lids and blinks a few times while he grins down at her. Ariadne rubs her eyes, reaches over to her bedside table and flicks over her bishop. Arthur's rewarded with a deep inhale and sleepy smile, "What are you doing here?"_

"_Wriggled out of there early. Figured I could do the paperwork in Paris with my girl."_

_She turns over to her back while he weaves his hands with hers. Even at four-dark-thirty in the morning, Ariadne has jokes, "Well, it's a good thing I didn't bring that guy from the bar home last night…" Arthur nods, "Yeah. Good call." He moves to get back out of bed when Ariadne grabs his sleeve and mocks a whine, "You just got back home. Don't leave me."_

"_I need to shower."_

"_No. You need to be my pillow."  
xxxxxx_

His arm was asleep; it was twisted behind her head and used as some sort of pillow. He slept sitting up (more or less) and let Ariadne kick or lay over him or unconsciously slap or hold on however she needed to get rest. She slept soundly and deeply and twitched the way she normally did when she was overly exhausted. The second he opened his eyes, The Point Man felt a sharp twinge in his neck which only amplified when he moved it. The clock read nine thirty am—the latest Arthur had ever slept in. In need of coffee and pain pills, he gently extricated his limb from under her and quickly went to get what he required so he could be back in case she woke up in a panic that he wasn't there. As an afterthought, he left his dice next to her bishop.

The other three were already up and a pot of coffee sitting out. He first got some aspirin out of one of the drawers and dry swallowed them before pouring a mug of black coffee and traipsing back to the stairwell. "Art." The blonde extractor in the corner of the living room had just gotten off the phone (it looked like) and got up to meet him. "Saito's just called. We have a problem."

"What?" Already?

Cobb handed him the phone with their former employer waiting on the receiver, "The Maus' have been murdered."  
xxxxxx

When Arthur came back upstairs she was sitting up with the covers around her shoulders and rolling her totem around in her palms. Leaving his dice worked since there was no sense of alarm at his absence like there had been if he so much as scooted where she couldn't feel him the night before.

Ariadne's senses were still heightened. The feeling that the Hoods might come back for her or that Wolffe could manifest himself in their safe house and enter her room at any moment was prevalent. He'd drugged her up good but not enough to let her fantasize her time in the Woods had been a bad dream or hallucination. Sometimes when she was in that space between awake and asleep—in that place where everything's heavy and there's sand in your eyes and your muscles don't want to move—her body would slip into the mindset of being helpless and sedated again. Sometimes she could hear growls and yells of profanity and her voice screaming for help faraway. So when there was no doubt she was awake and had full control of her body, if she was alone, she was overly alert. Her ears picked up everything. Especially trigger sounds like creaking and footsteps and beeps. She hated beeps. That meant she was locked in. The boys were accommodating but never identified why they couldn't use the microwave around her without eliciting an episode of anxiety. When Arthur rounded the corner, her eyes flickered up immediately. "You're up," his eyebrows raised.

Ariadne was confused as to why that would astound him. She bobbed her head and said a sentence she hadn't uttered in a very long time. One that shocked even her, "I'm a little hungry." Her stomach had growled several times before this day but the Architect was so accustomed to the feeling, it didn't bother her. What she wasn't used to was the appetite that accompanied it this time. On the norm, nothing sounded or looked appetizing. She ate because she had to. And while she could probably still only nibble a portion and be done…this morning, there was something she wanted.

It was a sign of progress. A sign that they'd been doing something right and while far from a full recovery, Ariadne was improving. Arthur grinned, "What do you want?"

"Um…" she bit her lip and winced, "Waffles?"

Arthur chuckled. Poor fellow was too giddy for his own good. Ariadne just deadpanned back at him and (more than likely) hoped he wasn't going insane. He stood at the foot of the bed, "That I can make."

"And…" Woah, more? She was craving more than one thing? The Point Man interrupted and sat himself down at her feet, "What? I'll whip up anything your heart desires."

"I, um. I promised myself when I finally got out of there I would have an environmentally damaging root beer float…"

Well crap. That was probably the one thing he couldn't provide. Arthur grimaced, "We don't have the soda…or the ice cream." Ariadne just shrugged but he could tell her face had fallen a fraction. Why hadn't he thought of that? Root beer floats were always her choice of edible comfort. Then again, they were thinking of foods that wouldn't make her explode. In her condition, a float would be too rich. The melting core inside Arthur that broke down every time he had to deny her something justified a small glass... He was quick to promise, "But I'm sure we can get some in Japan. Saito and I will supply you with a never-ending flow of it." He smirked. But that didn't lift her spirits at all….he shouldn't have used the word—

"Japan?" Arthur noticed with dissatisfaction the constriction of her palm around her bishop. She fidgeted and then slunk further back from him. "You said—"

He sighed, "We have to get you out of the states." He debated sharing the information Saito and Dom had uncovered. He was afraid it might startle her but she should know. She would want to know. And she would _need _to know so all the precautions they had to follow to keep her under the radar would make sense to her. So he continued, "The Hoods know, Ariadne."

At first she blinked. Then unnerved the Point Man by inhaling deeply and scanning her room. "Jeff Maus found his parents stabbed this morning. The house had been ransacked. There were two by-passers dead in the front lawn." He left out the part about them writing that they were everywhere and would find 'Red' in the unidentified bodies' blood in the room she was kept in. "They know you're not dead."

Ariadne knew the sensations that came with being watched like she knew the sensation of hot and cold. Her eyes were running from the corners and cracks in the ceiling to the molding on the footboards to her window behind her. To keep her from being too startled he added, "They don't know where we are," she settled more at that, "and the permits and paperwork for the safe houses are_ buried_ and encrypted. But if they were diligent and determined enough they could possibly trace them back to Miles and his friend Donald Curtis and they might start searching the locations for us."

She nodded, "So you're going to ship me to Asuka."

"We're all going together. I made it very clear that we required a facility that could house all of us. And I can arrange my quarters to be close to yours-or whoever you want. If you want Yusuf close or Eames or Cobb—"

Ariadne specified, "I want all of you close." And after he 'ok'ed, she even requested, "And I want you with me."

"We can't do that…" he wavered penitently, "but I can be in the quarters next to you. And there'll be an intercom system; you can reach any of us if it's a must."

After the Architect looked at her bedroom door despondently then Arthur whipped his head to see. There was nothing there but empty hallway and the beginning sizzles, pops and smells of one of the men cooking bacon for breakfast. Her gaze was already set on him when he returned his attention to her, "I don't want to be locked up again."

"You'll have free access." She still didn't seem convinced. She was accepting because what else would she do? Ariadne did not desire to stay and chance being discovered and smuggled back to the Woods. The Point Man crossed over to the curtains they kept closed at night and opened them to let the light in. He ensured, "There's a garden room with an open ceiling. Your room will have a view of cherry blossoms and coy ponds." It did the trick in brightening her up. He pointed out the window with his index and smiled, "And I ordered the sun to shine everyday just for you."  
xxxxxx

_Arthur steps out of the bathroom in track pants and a white t shirt. He takes one whiff of eggs and waffles in the air and utters, "Crap." Shuffling into the main part of the flat he complains, "I was going to cook _you _breakfast." He's not really upset though. Despite the fact that it's his recipe and secret ingredients she uses for the waffles, she makes them better than he does. Or maybe she just looks more endearing than he does in tatty, oversized pajama sets and cow slippers while she flips batter and drowns their plates in syrup before she ever places the food on them. "You just got in; that wouldn't be fair. Thank you for the flowers and sarong by the way," she kisses him on the cheek as he gets close enough and then turns down the knob on the stove, "assuming they're for me and not one of your other girlfriends…"_

"_No," The Point Man sits on a stool and watches her finish up, "just for you."_

Xxxxxx

At zero hour, one of Saito's private jets landed in the clearing fifteen miles from the safe house. The team drove down with all precious cargo pre-packed and rearing to go. What they had on them was minimal so loading the jet was no huge task. While there were no security procedures to go through on the Team's end, Dom and Arthur had their own requirements for the group of Asian suits. First, a voice confirmation from Saito to Arthur's phone, then matching their personnel id's (the Point requested the names of the men that would be coming and background checked beforehand), then a thorough sweep of the plane. All that had to be done before they let Ariadne (and Eames with lead foot resting by the gas pedal) out of the vehicle. Everything checked out so they rushed the other four in, got settled in their seats and ready for takeoff.

The jet was nice. There were screwed down tables and swivel chairs they could move to after the seatbelt sign was turned off, actual size bathrooms and it was stocked with enough gourmet menu items they could live in the plane for months and binge each meal if they desired. For takeoff they had four rows of seats facing the correct way in the back with military-like seatbelts that strapped you in over your shoulders and connected at the one around your waist. And Ariadne was fine with the whole ordeal until it was time to put what she only saw as _restraints_ on. All the boys were buckled in and looking at their watches (or phones); they were getting suspicious because they'd been sitting there for ten minutes with no word and no revving of the engine. Eames was unbuckled and Arthur in the process of to get up and make sense of it when the voice came over the intercom, "We apologize for the delay but everyone must be buckled in before we take off." (We'll assume there was an indicator in the cockpit that alerted them.)

But they were just strapped in…the Point sighed and clicked back in and the Forger slowly sat back down to fiddle with the belt again. They shared a peeved off look prior to Yusuf's glance back and his nod towards the girl beside Arthur: she was staring forward at the front of the plane contentedly, ready to go but maybe deaf to the orders because she was sitting with her knees to her chest, free as a bird. "Ariadne, could you fasten your seatbelt, please? You can undo it as soon as we're in the air."

"Nu-uh."

The Point reached behind her head and pulled at the belt, "We can't take off until your buckled," and she slapped his arm away. "No! You're not restraining me!" Her teeth ground together and Arthur knew by the way she looked at him, that if he touched that belt again and tried to help her, she would throw a fit. (And loathe him for eternity.)

Arthur looked pointedly at himself and gestured to their companions, "Look, we're all secured in."

Ariadne nodded. There was no confusion. She understood perfectly and yet she denied the notion, "Exactly. So you won't be able to protect me. I have to be able to defend myself." The Architect was now used to Arthur fixing everything to her will so she demanded, "Just tell them I'm allowed."

The bridge of his nose was pinched hard, "I would if it were about comfort—"

"I'm not comfortable."

"—but this is about safety," the Point spoke over her. Cobb warned across the aisle, "Art, the longer we sit here out in the open…" And the addressed sighed, "I know." He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and then gritted his teeth while he unbuckled and squeezed between her and the seat in front of her. He had to hook one of his legs around hers and push her back into the seat with his forearm across her chest so he could pull down the belt with one hand while she protested and kicked and smacked at him, "No! Arthur, stop! Arthur! Please! I don't want to be tied down again! Please!" He released her upper body once the straps were over them so he could use both hands to fasten them to the bottom belt. He stood remorsefully when he was done and she continued to strike him (but she didn't undo her belt). Once his bottom hit the seat beside her again she elbowed him and commanded he move, "I want Eames!" After all, when she couldn't get Arthur to do what she wanted then Eames was the next softie to cave.

He held his hands up in surrender and promised, "I'm not going to do anything else. I won't touch you while we're buckled."

"I. Want. To. Sit. By. Eames." Ariadne spat. He glimpsed at the Forger; Eames was already unbuckled and moving into the aisle to switch with him so he grunted and got up. Once they were both settled in (again), she quieted and the jet started up.  
xxxxxxx

"_I want to sit by Ariadne!" Eames rushes to spurt out as soon as the announcement about the flight is made. The Extractor for this particular job crosses him arms and looks at him like he's four. Which Eames doesn't mind; it means his delivery was spot on. Arthur glares at him and Ariadne just smiles and nods way too excitedly for her (not yet) boyfriend's liking. "I agree. Get me and Eames seats next to each other." _

_The Point makes a note to but wonders aloud, "Why on earth anyone would _want _to be stuck next to him for six hours is beyond me."_

_Ariadne shrugs. Then (just to piss Arthur off because come on even the new guy can tell Arthur's chomping at the bit to ask Ariadne to dinner one of these days) Eames comes behind her, wraps his arms around her waist and wiggles his eyebrows at the Point, "Tiny and I have excellent fun on planes." The Architect is trying her best to bite back a laugh when Eames starts swaying their bodies and winking at the other men (she can't see the winking though), "Ever heard of the Mile High Club, gentleman?" _

_She laughs but elbows the Forger in the ribs with a roll of her eyes, "We just people watch." But Eames savors the split second of belief, astonishment and slight rage in Arthur's beady little eyes before she ruins the joke. Then she saunters over to one of the desks and hops on top, "And I make fun of his Madonna playlists." _

"_It's one playlist." Eames makes sure to indicate._

"_Um—per awards season. And don't get me started on your cheesy eighties love ballads. Those are hilarious." Her legs are swinging. Wisps of her hair are falling from her messy bun and she's smiling that cheeky way that makes the Forger want to pinch them or something and surely makes Arthur want to jump her bo-(Ew, retract thought. Retract thought.) _

_Pulling up a chair, he points out that, "You seem to like my taste…considering you sing every tune with enthusiasm and spontaneous hair-ography." He cups his mouth with one hand so she 'can't see,' "It's quality entertainment. I got two and a half hours of video last time."_

"_And I got video of you doing Laverne and Shirley's scarf dance with my pink paisley so don't make me angry…"_

_Eames scoffed, "You did it too."_

"_I played the bongos. And I wasn't on video for that one, now was I, Shirl?"  
_xxxxxx

The jet was picking up speed along the ground and they could feel the incline when the nose of the plane started to lift into the air. Eames' leg was bouncing back and forth; not out of nervousness though. This was actually his favorite part about flying. His hand flitted up to undo his top button as he checked on the figure beside him. She was fixing to open up that cut on her lip again and she was white knuckling the arm rests. Every few seconds her left hand would feel at the seatbelt anxiously then dart back to its spot. As he caught sight of the still chapped but healing rings of rope burn around her wrists he could appreciate why she felt so uneasy. He murmured, "What's going on up there, puppet? You ok?" Ariadne shook no, eyes fixed on the seatbelt sign. Eames made a smart suggestion, "Let's talk through it, then. Yeah? It'll go faster…" he lifted his eyebrows and smirked convincingly. He chuckled, "The last time I was on a plane we were headed to Maine and I was squished between a blabbering Point Man and a _very _rotund, very smelly woman who fell asleep on my shoulder." He shimmied to simulate a shiver.

Initially, her gaze was unsure when it glided over to him. Then she opened her mouth and let it all fall like word vomit, "The last time I was on a plane—" eyes fluttered closed, hand wiped across her face, "I was soaked in someone else's blood and being dragged back to hell." This time Eames shivered for real. "Christa and Harold. They're dead because of me." Eames opened his mouth yet faltered. Her eyes misted over, "They were sweet people; they didn't deserve that."

His foot played around with the bottom of the chair in front of him, "You didn't ask for their help. They wanted to give it."  
xxxxxx

Yusuf was doing crossword puzzles by himself at one of the tables. He tried to pace himself. Not even four hours into their sixteen hour flight and he was seventy five percent done with the book. Cobb and Arthur sat at another table. The Extractor busied himself by putting the fixings on a baked potato and the Point picked at a salad. He wasn't hungry but he needed fuel, Dom on the other hand was starving and his lobster plate was on its way. "It's completely ridiculous that I get jealous when I look over there, isn't it?" Arthur brought up as he drizzled some raspberry vinaigrette on the greens in front of him. Cobb imitated him with a cursory glance over at the rows of seats. Eames was reading an in-flight magazine and Ariadne was asleep on his shoulder. Dom shrugged at his friend, "Nah. It's normal. I mean, you obviously still love her," he ignored Arthur's hard look, "so it's understandable that you'd be frustrated when you can't or she won't let you help the way you want to and someone else can." It was a good point, Arthur thought while shoving romaine lettuce and tomatoes into his system and overhearing Cobb ask for more sour cream with his drink refill through the intercom. He chewed another mouthful, swallowed, then "Do you think—" he cut himself off and shied from Cobb's attention to stab at his plate, "—Actually never mind. It's trivial."

Cobb gulped down some wine and then poked Arthur's forearm with his fork, "What."

Arthur warned, "I'm going to sound like an immature teenaged girl for being concerned about it in this situation." He checked his watch, poured more dressing. Dominick chided, "Well now I'm invested. You have to ask."

The darker haired of the two rolled his eyes. Following a sip of wine he inquired, "Do you think _she_ still loves _me_?"

First, Cobb had to thank the attendant for bringing out his fixings and topping off his glass but he raised eyebrows at his friend. "Ariadne's only concerned about two things lately: safety and security. I don't think love has even crossed her mind in months."

"I know. That's why it was stupid to bring it up. Our relationship—any relationship is the last thing on her brain and it _should _be the last thing on mine right now." Arthur glanced quickly over his shoulder at her and then did a double-take when he realized she had woken up. (And shakily as well). She felt in her jacket pocket for her totem and whipped her head to the row across from her. When she deduced it was empty, she sat up and scanned behind her, got tenser, and darted her eyes around the cabin. Eames dropped his reading material and touched her arm, "Are you ok?" When her eyes found Arthur's (he smiled softly), she was fine, she leaned back in her seat and turned to the Forger to answer his questions.

"You're still special to her though." Cobb's voice (muffled because of the potato in it) pulled him back to return his focus on their table. "If that helps." Arthur mulled over the statement and picked out the nuts in his bowl. "I mean they obviously instilled a lot of negative emotions and instincts in her. If the rest of get close to her too quickly, or touch her unexpectedly or talk a little too loud she gets afraid of us. But never of you." (Embarrassed maybe but Cobb could skip around that.) "She's still wary about some of the things we say but she trusts _you_. Well and normally Yusuf when it's about bruises and stuff."

"I guess," shrugged the Point.

The attendant then brought out the Extractor's order of lobster claws and some butter and they both take a second to widen their eyes and appreciate the steam and the aroma. Two claws and a cracking utensil is placed on the edge of Arthur's plate insistently by his best friend so he begins to de-shell some meat while Cobb finishes his potato and (shockingly) continues the conversation, "You're still the first one Ariadne calls when she's upset and the first one she looks for when she wakes up from a nightmare." He pointed with his fork back in her direction for example, "I think despite whatever they did to her and whatever weird concepts she picked up as a result—she remembers how you always treated her. And I think she clings to you for the certainty you bring."

_Certainty. _He tasted that word and what it meant. Chewed on its implications. If he used their conversation from the night before as a sample for study he would determine that Ariadne was anything but certain about Arthur. The Architect believed he saw her one way and wasn't convinced when he swore he saw her another. And Ariadne was definitely not certain he still loved her—that he could tell from his questions about the baby. About if she would've let him know he was a father if none of it had happened and she was in Paris. If she would contact him. She was confident that if he came back it wouldn't be because he loved her it would be because he had a responsibility to her. She was sure he still cared somewhat or he wouldn't be there but the deeper meanings and feelings were lost in the darkest of _un_certainties. So Arthur was sarcastic when he bit, "Certain that when I decide something about her, then it's done and she has no say about it?" Of course there was an underlying story there. It being the one where he persisted in walking away from her.

Pushing his potato plate aside and picking up a claw, Cobb corrected, "The certainty that you have no desire to control her. And would rather give up everything important to you than to try." Arthur froze because finally someone understood his reasoning. Someone got it. The epitome of his goal in leaving her. "The certainty that you care about her. _Her. _Not just her body, not just her mind. And that even at the sacrifice of your happiness and sanity, you always have her best interests at heart." Cobb shook his finger at the Point, "The certainty that you are the exact opposite of the monster who did this to her."

Moisture threatened to build up in the Point's eyes so he took another swig of wine and got busy cracking the other claw. He'd be damned if Dom saw through his exterior again. He was starting to look like a pansy, he was sure. Cobb ended the discussion with one last point: "Who knows if she still loves you? But she still needs you."

Just then, The Architect doubled over and emitted long and loud keening noises. Cobb cut his eyes over and Arthur dropped his fork and twisted around. Yusuf closed his book and strained his neck to see over the chairs, to see Eames holding his tablet and watching her, terrified and at a loss for what to do. Her seatbelt was tore off and she sprung up from her seat with wild wrath in her caramel orbs. She was incensed. The men all stood at attention, their stances wide and low so they could move fast if need be. The plane was experiencing turbulence so she stumbled and fell into some seats on her way to the table Cobb and Arthur were sitting at. Arthur opened his arms when she got to him but she drove past him and snatched up his abandoned fork. "Woah!" exclaimed the Extractor. The blonde grabbed her wrist and held it out away from her as she fought to harm herself. Eames fidgeted on his legs, Yusuf hurried over and Arthur grabbed her waist to hold her back. Sure Cobb could keep her fist from jamming the fork into her body but someone needed to keep her from throwing herself in the utensils direction. Dom peeled her whitening fingers, "Let go of it." Yusuf held his hands out, palms down, to try to get her to calm, "Ariadne, there's no need for this. Whatever you think is happening is in your head..." She grunted and yanked the wrist in Cobb's possession, tears starting to stream. Arthur's arms tightened around her waist and his head buried in her hair by her ear, "Drop it, Ari, let go of the fork. Whatever you do to yourself, I _will _do to myself." He knew she didn't want someone else getting her because of her. She gradually loosened her grip and dropped it (the anger too). At once, The Point pushed her away from the table and all possible blunt objects and into the closest chair on the front row that he could kneel in front of.

Yusuf yelled at the gawping Forger, "Damn, Eames, what the hell did you say to her?"

"She—she, uh, she—" He stuttered, terrified, with all of their eyes critically eyeing him. "—wanted to see the case file and the photos of the unidentifieds."

"And you fucking showed her?!" Cobb reprimanded.

"She said it would make her feel better. She wanted to see if she knew who they were! They were blurry, its not like she saw the gruesome details."

"Grant and Mila…" Arthur heard her whisper brokenly. "Who are they?" His hands tucked on either side of her legs. Ariadne shuddered, her head quaked back and forth, "They're the reason I'm still alive. They're the reason you found me. They're the ones that snuck me out of there…and now they've been killed because of it. I killed them." Livid again, she tried to stand but the Point pushed her back down. She smacked his chest and punched his shoulders but then stilled and hung her head. Let him envelop her in his hold. He reasoned, "They weren't hooded," hoped for her sake that the dead bodies weren't who she thought they were. "Maybe it wasn't them."

Ariadne thought back on the yellow van. The way they'd executed the dream division's forger and point. How they de-robed their bloody corpses by ripping off their cloaks. With how furious Wolffe would have been with them, with how traitorous they would be viewed to the brotherhood…she was sure they wouldn't have been hooded anymore. They knew she wasn't dead. So they knew Grant and Mila lied and schemed. "No. It's Hood Law: They hold everyone accountable. Even if they were forgiven, they had to suffer the consequences. It's them. They're dead. I'm certain."

Arthur rubbed her back, "I'll make him pay for it, sweetie. I'll make all of them pay for it."  
xxxxxx

They arrived mid-day in Hirosaki. They decided on this Japanese city for several reasons. One: it was in the Aomori prefecture, so it was out of the picture where tourists were concerned because it was vastly unknown to them. Saito had had some family who lived there as he was growing up so that was why he was familiar with it and chose to establish a large estate there for a vacation home. In the neighboring town, Iwaki, there was an old office building put out of use (a shame because it was a beautiful piece of traditional Japanese architecture) that he called in some men to refurbish to use as a company building so that even on vacation he could keep up with his empire. Most recently, he'd turned the lower half of the office building into a ready-made rehab facility for Ariadne. The rooms on the fourth and fifth floors would house them all and the upper half remained a high tech research office.

Jet lag couldn't begin to cover the way they felt. Thankfully, Saito had foreseen this and sent some people to pick them up and drive them to Iwaki equipped with sparkling water and fresh fruit for the drive. Since they landed, Ariadne was back to Arthur's side. Or he back to hers. Whichever. He kept his arm around the back of her seat as they rode and analyzed each person's face. He was committing them to memory in case something happened to her. They passed through a gate with not only security cams on them but a security booth that controlled them as well. The office building looked like a castle, a giant fortress really. Whether that bolstered Ariadne or intimidated her, she couldn't make out yet. Strangely there were no other cars. When they rounded the back of the building they found why: The parking garage ramped down into the underground.

Spiraling down into darkness wasn't Ariadne's cup of tea. She knotted Arthur's pant leg into her fist and leaned into him (away from the window, actually). He attempted encouragement by crooning, "It's ok," but it didn't do anything for her. She just kept thinking of descending into the pit in the woods. When they reached the bottom level, some steel doors opened and a bright white room greeted them. It swallowed up the car and then closed it in before Saito's cronies got out of the vehicle. It looked like a safe enough room. There were elevators and a stairwell (brightly lit) whose only directions were up and no tunnels anywhere else so the Architect deemed it—worthy of chance. Arthur kept his hand on the small of her back as the men led them into the elevator and up, up, up into the beautiful office building. The elevators were glass so she could see all the levels of the garage and some of the exquisitely decorated floors as they rose to their destination: Level 3.

The doors opened and two of the Asians with medical badges offered their hands to Ariadne and looked at Arthur for permission. In broken English they asked, "May we?"

Ariadne backed into Arthur's body, "May you _what_?"

"We need to escort you to the examination room. Only medical personnel with identification are allowed on this floor and your team has not been granted badges as of yet."

Her head whipped back to her Point Man and pleadingly shook her head, "No. Not without you."

Her wish was his command. His arm protectively encircled her shoulders, "Then we'll wait until we're issued badges and one of us can accompany her."

They grimaced. "We were given strict orders by Mr. Saito to have her looked at immediately upon arrival," the skinnier one insisted and stepped closer to her while the other held the elevator open and asked for backup in Japanese.

"Orders that were made in coalition with me. And I say you wait." His Point Man voice came out of his back pocket and he spoke to them like his word was law. "Arthur—" Cobb coaxed but Yusuf intervened, "She doesn't want to, Dom." The Chemist's voice sparked an idea; Arthur tried to compromise, "Look…Mr. Yusuf here has medical background plus he's a certified chemist. He has identification on him to prove it;" The aforementioned dug in his back pocket for his wallet while Arthur kept soothsaying, "May _he_ go along with her?"

"I want _you." _The Architect demanded and forcefully took his arms and wrapped them around her shoulders.

They took a look at Yusuf's information and approved the proposition. Yusuf was rushed out of the elevator and the men started to gently tug and guide Ariadne out as well. She twisted back in a panic, "You said we wouldn't be separated…" His palms rubbed over her elbows pacifyingly, "Just for a little bit."

"You said you wouldn't leave me." Her face scrunched and she grabbed his sleeves. Scratched at them helplessly. Arthur could sense all the eyes. Everyone was honed in on their exchange. Leaning in, he cajoled, "It's just like a check-up. They want to make sure we didn't miss anything when Jeff and Yusuf looked over you. And Yusuf's going too; he'll take care of you. You'll be fine."

"But you said you wouldn't leave me again. And you're—leaving me here…"

"I will come for you as soon as I get my hands on a badge. I'll call Saito and have it done right away." He vowed while walking her back to the doors. Then it happened: her imploring watery chestnut eyes and her sweet, dulcet petition, "Please, don't make me go without you. I'm scared." Right away he contended to the personnel, "Is there no way I can come too?"

"Not without a badge. Security will take you down in an instant. It shouldn't take too long to get one. They've most likely already been ordered down for you."

He sighed, "I'm sorry, baby…it _won't _be long."

"Arthur…" they tugged her out of the elevator and hurried down the hallway leaving the doors to close in front of Arthur's nose. Ariadne's head strained to turn and look at him as long as she could.  
xxxxxxx

He didn't get back to her until she was settled in her quarters on the fifth floor and she'd been thoroughly tested and treated to dinner. Yusuf followed her and the Asians like a shadow for Arthur who knocked on her door. There were cameras outside her door and a feed inside so she could see anyone who called on her and allow them in or order them away with a press of a button. Ariadne buzzed him in. She was in the middle of drawing in her sketchbook on a large, luxurious white desk in the back nook of her quarters by the window. He found her (saw the sketch of a wolf head being held by the beginnings of a Little Red Kimono Hood) and smiled, "Tests came back great. All that crap is completely washed from your system, your brain is starting to function faster again, no diseases, no infections…and your lower half should heal well enough that should you ever want kids, it won't be a problem." Arthur pulled up a chair and sat behind her a ways.

The Architect merely bobbed her head up and down and continuing coloring in the girl's hair, "I know. They relayed the information to me and Yusuf before dinner."

While clasping his hands together, he leaned forward on his knees, "Are you upset with me?"

Her lips pursed. Her pencil continued to brush back and forth along the paper. "There was nothing you could do." Except not take no for an answer and fight to go with her anyway…Arthur thought. Because what if it had been another one of those times where she wanted him to stay and he threw her into the clutches of wolves thinking it was for the best? How many times did he have to learn from that mistake? He was fixing to apologize again when she put her pencil down and swiveled her chair towards him, "I don't like it here."

"It will take some getting used to…" Even for him. At least until Saito flew in a couple weeks to set a plan of action and gave him the clout and access they agreed upon.

"I have to use the badge to 'check in' every room I go. I have to be locked back in this box? It's just like—" She rubbed her forehead, "It's just like being back in that underground prison. I feel trapped."

"They're just security measures."

With one lift of the eyebrow, she looked dangerously close to the Ariadne he met in the warehouse. "Funny. That's exactly what the Hoods said when I first got there too."

"Except I'm here. You're whole team is here to rip anyone apart if they try something. I'm next door, Yusuf's on the other side and Cobb and Eames are across the hall. And they've got body heat receptors so they know who's in a room without seeing video. That's why there's that badge thing so they know if anyone is somewhere they're not supposed to be." She sighed but seemed to accept it. Ariadne got up from her seat and padded to the kitchenette where a water bottle, some containers of vitamins and instructions on what, how many and when to take them were lying on the counter. After a swig of her water, she started setting out what she needed to take before bed. "Why can't you stay with me?" Arthur followed into the other room.

"Because of the sensors. They're programmed to detect and alert when there is more than one person in a lodging room. Two people would alert them to your room constantly and that'll mess up the security. For instance, if I stay here over half an hour, they'll start beeping and send someone up to check on you."

It was comforting and disappointing at the same time. Ariadne replied with a hum and starting taking her vitamins. Out of the blue; he felt the need to ask, "Ari?" She hummed. "Could I hug you?"

The Architect's stare was quizzical. Arthur was sure he sent a creeping feeling down her back and she would back away from him. Instead, she stepped forward, pressed her ear to his chest and squeezed around his waist. He missed this. Missed her. He squeezed her back with fervor and buried his nose in her hair, "I lo—" (ve you died in his throat.) Even though he knew it and she should know it…it wasn't a thing they said to each other anymore. She pushed lightly away from him and searched his eyes. Did she suspect what his sentence was going to be? He smiled (it was half-assed) "I'll-uh-" that sounded close enough right? "-see you tomorrow."

**Next Chapter: ** We fast forward a few months and see how far along our plan to infiltrate the Hood's is, how Ari's rehab is going and introduce two new featured characters for your scrutiny. A/A romantic tension shall start building again tooo.


	18. Kavchak

Thank you: _Lazarus76, Lauraa-x, CoffeeFilters, Guest, lilachiccups _(wow, thanks! That's such a compliment! And thank you for the recent reviews on Follow the Red and all the alerts and stuff! I saw them!)

And special thanks to _Linn29_. I don't know if you're reading this one but you author alerted me and I really have nowhere else to thank you. So thank you if you see this.

**Chapter 18: Kavchak**

Saito looked at one of the screens above them and to the right, "Ah yes, she's in the gym. Shall we pay her a visit and accompany her to lunch?" The team's vote was unanimous so they headed down the hall to the elevator. Saito had been in two weeks and they just officiated their strategy to strike the Hoods. One of Saito's American associates volunteered an employee to locate and infiltrate to feed them information. They found they're exact location. In six months they would have enough employees drilled to ambush 'The Woods' and take them down when they least expected it. Aka while they celebrated their assault on Mosanto Company. With the final draft of their scheme verified today, they were feeling good.

Two months in physical, dietary and psycho-rehab had been good to Ariadne. The deep-rooted fears would be there for a while but she was learning to cope with them and trust people again. And week by week the old fiery Architect was layering stratums of her old self back on to her skeletal system. She was still reserved with others but getting confident in herself again. She usually ate lunch with Yusuf and Cobb every day because their schedules gave them the same window of time to eat in. Eames would visit her after physical therapy, after she showered and grabbed a snack on level two where the 'cafeteria' like area was. They spent an hour talking before she had psychotherapy. Since Arthur was (no shock here) the most involved and invested in the plan against the Hoods, their schedules rarely gave them time together. But he made sure that if he couldn't be in there with her during her dinner hour (and even when he could) that he'd go to her quarters and spend time with her there every day. Usually two, three hours. Sometimes they would talk and sometimes they would sit comfortably in silence while he worked on his laptop for the project and she drew or read or watched subtitled movies.

They entered the gym themed room. It was grey and black and glass and clean lines. On the whiteboard by the door her schedule for the session was posted**: Weights:20min, Cardio:25min, Yoga:15min, Core Strengthening: 20min, Boxing:20min.** **Treadmill: 20min. Overall Time:120min. **Ariadne was in the corner on her final exercise, running with earphones in and almost at full speed at that. Two months ago she got winded by walking from the bed to the bathroom. Once her trainer noticed them, he made his way over in case they had questions or what have you. Arthur did. "A hundred and twenty minutes…we agreed that sixty would be sufficient."

The trainer—Ohayossu (called Yossu)—admitted, "Yes. But I was also instructed to go at her pace and she's asked for another hour during the week."

Eames chuckled, "She would."

"I'm just concerned it's too strenuous of a schedule. It's only been two months; she's doing well, I'm afraid she'll relapse if we allow her to overwork herself." His hands gestured around to make his point. Yusuf backed him up with his own two cents, "Yes. Because Ariadne is the type that will push herself beyond her limit whether she's ready or not."

Yossu winced and scratched his head ruefully, "In that case, you might want to know that she's requested target practice and combat lessons. And they have been organized to start working into her daily routine tomorrow." At that precise moment, her timer beeped and she pulled the headphones out. A giant smile lit up her face when she saw them all and she hopped off to meet them. "This is a nice surprise. All my boys at once." They all reached out for support as a reflex when one of her knees buckled for a second. "You ok?" came from the Extractor first.

"Yeah. My legs are always wobbly after I've been on that thing a while."  
xxxxxx

"So, any news on the Hood confrontation?" It was always hopeful when she asked that question. Because each time she hoped one of them would actually impart some information on their progress to her. Ariadne chewed on some green beans and eyed them all curiously. Her body was filling out again with all the nutrients they fed her. Her hair was shiny once more and her skin was healing and going back to its natural color. Most scabs were now transforming into scars. There must've been an unspoken oath to bite their tongues on the subject around her for fear it would trigger something. Arthur stood and grabbed her cup, "Do you want some more milk?" He offered.

She politely replied, "Yes and a nashi, please." As soon as he was out of hearing distance she pursed her lips at her team, "I know he doesn't want me involved but I don't see why you can't talk about it- like its taboo around me or something." The Point Man returned as she was saying, "I mean I lived there. I probably know more about it than you do."

"We're subverting their hideout in Maine six months from today with back up from five hundred of Saito's best." He placed her glass and fruit in front of her before he sat and elaborated, "Simultaneously 1200 more will be infiltrating their establishments in Colorado and Texas. I'm going to kill Bruce Wolffe and every man I get my hands on." Cue awkward silence…everyone was shocked that Arthur had relayed their scheme (even if the most basic version). Ariadne's eyes were wide, impressed, _curious_ and that unnerved him so he cut it off there, "And that's all you need to know."

With a lick of her lips and a gulp of her beverage she offered, "I could help you know. I've actually been there. I have some ideas—"

Whereas Eames and Saito leaned forward to hear them, Arthur interjected, "We have someone on the inside. I don't want you to have to even think about that place, ok? It doesn't exist to you anymore. I'm going to obliterate it."

Ariadne sighed, exasperated and grabbed her fruit with one hand while dusting off her seat with the other, "I'm going to be late for combat…"

"I cancelled that." Eames whistled at Arthur's blatant declaration. And Cobb waited for Ariadne's reaction with squinty eyes.

Unbelievable. Same old Arthur. Same old agenda. Ariadne tossed the nashi back onto the table and rebuked, "Are you saying you don't think I need self-defense?" She towered over him, showered him with that familiar hard headed finesse and gestured to herself, "Because I think all the scars on my body say I do."

He began to digress, "It just seems like a lot. Too much, too soon."

"Two and a half months is a reasonable period of time for my progression. I mean, I could barely run for a minute when we first got here. I wouldn't be where I am if I didn't push myself a little. I've got to build my stamina back up." Ariadne looked at Yusuf. He wasn't sure if she expected him to back her up or not so when Arthur looked at him too he just mentioned that she had a point.

"Why so fast? You're not training for a triathlon. Why do you need to become Jackie Chan all of a sudden?"

Arms crossed, "Because as we've seen, you're not always going to be there. In fact you're never there when I actually want or need you to protect me."

He tilted his head and cleared his throat, "That's not fair, Ari."

"I've got to be prepared at a moment's notice. Especially since when your plot for revenge is said and done, I'll be on my own again."

"You won't—" He grunted to himself because she stalked off before he could retaliate. Arthur pushed his food away and stalked off in his own direction.  
xxxxxx

Later that day at their usual time Eames strolled into the cafeteria and picked up a pudding while he waited for the Architect to arrive. She came bounding in fresh with wet hair pulled in a knot and some comfy clothes since her more active sessions were wrapped for the day. She grabbed a rice pudding and some kiwi then plopped across from Eames afterward. He peeled back the wrapping and stuck a spoon into the chocolate (of all the disgusting things to him: rice pudding was top three. Just after Arthur's post-coital smile after what he regrettably assumed was a good night with Ariadne, and women with underarm hair) for idle chit chat he asked how her Combat session had gone. Her eyes rolled, "I decided to wait another two months before I added it to my plate. And four before I really need target practice." The foil atop the rice pudding was crumpled and set aside and the skin of the kiwis was steadily being peeled by her fingernails. (Longer now because: less nervous chewing and vitamins.)

"Look," Eames averted his eyes, a disgusted look plastered on his face, when she stirred her spoon around in the pudding. He had to look anywhere else during his testimony, "Arthur pisses all of us off with his overprotectiveness over you—especially me. Because while I care—I really do care, Darling—he's so goddamn grating about it all." She doesn't have to make any sign of agreement for him to know she does. "But—"

She grabbed a napkin from the middle of the table, "But—what I said was a low dig. Wasn't it?"

The Forger rocked his hand back and forth in the air, "Pretty below the belt."

Two spoonful's and a temple rub later she confessed, "I keep telling him I don't blame him…which I don't really. I've been working on that with Mako (her therapist). I just get frustrated with him and I know he still beats himself up over it so it's easy."

"So what is all of this extensive drilling and coaching really about?" It was her turn to make an appalled face when he licked over his spoon and the foil top when he was finished with his pudding. She was in the middle of cutting up her two kiwis so Eames winked and stole a slice.

A slice was popped into her own mouth and most of it chewed prior to her admission, "I kinda am training…"

"For..." he stole another. One more and she'd slap his hand and tell him to get his own, "what? The next Olympics? You have several years to practice for that, Sweetheart."

First, she cracked her knuckles. Next, she leaned on the table and waited for him to do the same. "I want to come with you guys back to the Woods."

"Are you insane?" deadpanned her friend.

"Probably so…" finished with her pudding she dropped the foil back in the cup with the spoon. "I feel like I need to come to terms with it. I can really help you guys if not doing anything but being a distraction."

His eyes widened, "You mean bait…Arthur would have a conniption. I'm not quite sure I'm too thrilled with the idea either, to be honest. I mean they-"he paused and emitted sorrow, "the way we found you after that…" Ariadne quieted and picked at her kiwi. It wasn't as if she needed to be reminded what she was trying to come back from. Part of that still hung over her that's why she thought seeing its end would provide closure. Help the monsters from her nightmares die. "Have the others ever said anything to you about the day we got the Polaroids of you? How we thought you were dead?"

The Architect furrowed her eyebrows and thought real hard. At first, she blushed furiously and her blood thinned…what kind of pictures had they seen? Then she vaguely remembered her last night in the Con Dig and how Grant had positioned her and waved some kind of lens in her face as her body started to lose control again. So blurry were the happenings of that night that once she was out, she never gave a second thought to what Grant had done (or was ordered to do) with the pictures. Ariadne forgot he even took some. Her lip got captured between her teeth and her head shook slowly and cautiously—almost afraid of what she would hear. Eames blew air out of his cheeks and stared at his clasped hands, "We got an envelope with shots of you on dirt ground" (one of the cells, Ariadne recalled) "with foam crusted on your mouth. You looked dead…" (She basically was. Paralyzed, at least.) "They said they'd left you in a ditch somewhere for the animals to have so we tracked a location we thought was close and searched. There was a body in your clothes" (Yes…moments were crisply coming into vision. Mila and Grant had stripped and changed her clothes) "and by the time we'd found it, it had been feasted on by some animal. But we all could've sworn it was you and Ari…" Eames rubbed his jaw; the girl across from him also picked up on the build-up of water in the corners of his eyes. "...we were honestly _all _beside ourselves. Yusuf and I were blubbering in the grass, Cobb was shell shocked and Arthur—Arthur tried to kill himself."

"What?" broadened her eyes and mouth.

"It was truly a gory, gruesome sight and we _really believed _it was you. He was beside himself. He pulled out his gun and I tackled him, Dom had to wrestle the thing from his grasp. It was hard for all of us to comprehend but he just could not fathom existing in a world where you weren't alive. If something went horribly wrong during the attack and we lost you again…for real—" he didn't exactly complete his thought. Instead he started a new one, "Go easy on him when he's leery about the idea but if you truly think it will help you, you need to tell Arthur what you want. It's a long shot but he might understand."  
xxxxxx

_She cooked. So Arthur's cleaning up the counters and putting away the leftovers. Ariadne makes the best lasagna you could ask for—you'd think she lives in Italy. Every time she makes it Arthur eats until he feels sick and then finishes it for lunch the next day. Ariadne's sitting at the bar with her laptop (again). Since this morning, she keeps getting on it, staring at the screen, tapping her fingers against the side of it and eyeing Arthur like she wants to say something. He finds a spot in the fridge for the Tupperware of the rest of their dinner and then leans on top of the counter, with the dishrag slung over his shoulder, and grins pointedly, "Out with it, Architect."_

_The Parisian seems relieved instantly, turns her computer to face him and excitedly squeals, "One of Cobb's contacts needs an Architect in Japan…and requested me. " _

"_When?" He's reading over the email and scrutinizing the fact that the details are far and few between. Apparently they've heard of her through other extractors and are willing to work out any plan to book her. She doesn't have to go into the field and they are willing to give her billing twenty thousand over what they are paying their Chemist. This is a big deal. The first job she's gotten without having to go through Arthur and people having to put faith in his word that she's amazing. Her first job without any of her Inception team mates going with her._

"_Next Friday…they only need me for two and a half weeks." Arthur looks up at her from the screen and her eyebrows rise. "Do you want to do it?" If he could guess by the large eyes, the lip biting, the eager nodding, the creeping smile and the inability to keep still….he would guess her answer is yes. "Call him up and get more info; I'll make up a passport and id set for you."_

"_A job on my own. Just like that?"_

_Arthur nods proudly, a self-satisfied grin that his paradoxical protégé is making a name for herself, "Just like that. Welcome to the big leagues of dreamshare."  
xxxxxx_

Arthur's afternoon had consisted of taking a chill pill and turning over thoughts in his quarters. The better she felt, the more she wanted to do. That's a good thing. At least she wasn't wallowing in self-pity and making little improvement. A combat class would be beneficial for her…he and Eames had gone over some self-defense but only the generic and in passing. And he had to keep telling himself: He and Ariadne were not back together. Even though he visited her daily and they spent time talking, sometimes laughing, and up until today _not _fighting, that did not mean they were picking up where they left off. Nothing remotely close to that topic had been brought up in their dialogue. With all of that in mind, what she'd said earlier about them going their separate ways when her rehab was complete and the threat was eradicated wasn't a gibe at him; it was the actuality of the matter. Since he wasn't going to be around(and after all this) he sure as hell wanted her to be able to twist a man's arm, break his neck and shoot him between the eyes without looking…so then why was there some subconscious worry gnawing away at the back of his brain? Why did he have to ask himself? Ariadne wanted to go into the field with them. That's why. There had been no discussion of it but if he knew anything about Ariadne he knew that her curiosity never came without motive. The overabundance of physical exertion, the request for sparring lessons and gun training—it wasn't for naught. There was an underlying reason she'd been driving herself past her limit so hurriedly and that reason was their scheduled battle with her former captors. Arthur was conclusive in that theory.

He knocked earlier than his usual time thus wasn't sure if she'd be back for the day yet. To his pleasant surprise, she was and it was even better that she buzzed him in. (Their quarrel at lunch hadn't had a lasting effect on her apparently.) The Point walked her housing facility over and found her in the back, by the window, at her desk again. Her feet (covered in bright blue socks) sat in her chair with her. Hair French braided back from her face, dressed in a token touristy t-shirt (I *Heart* Tokyo) and some track shorts, she looked right at home. A bottle of green tea sat lonely on her cleared off desk and a silver paper package laid torn open on her other side while she swiveled her chair slightly to and fro and gazed out the window. The sun was just going down and her room was set with a window to the backside so a) no one could look in on her on purpose/by chance/at all and b) so she could look out on the cherry blossoms and coy ponds. "It's beautiful this time of day, isn't it?" The Point commented as he came up behind her and pulled up the seat she kept for him in there. Her head bounced, "It's beautiful any time of the day, really."

Once her chair spun to the side so he could see her face, he noticed the pastry in her hand (and partly in her mouth), "You get one junk food a day and you waste it on a poptart?"

Ariadne's hand flew to her heart like her next sentence actually pained her, "My nutritionist said I have to lay off the root beer floats…" and she shook her head, "too much _so_da. I'm only allowed to order it once a week now."

"That's unfortunate." He clicked his tongue. A piece of the poptart is proffered to him along with wiggling eyebrows that are too persuasive to say no to.

Only one bite left, she shoved it in her mouth and dunked the trash into the bin behind her. "So am I allowed to ask what you did the rest of the day or is it like top secret, Zero Dark Thirty type stuff?"

"I mulled about in my room, read some files back over and had dinner."

"That's it?" She rested her chin in her hand, "I was expecting something like an elaborate action-adventure novel explained in three parts. With different voices for different people."

Arthur snickered, "I could use those phosphorescent socks as hand puppets to relay it more creatively for you. But I refuse to disclose the details of my meal. I consider my food consumption confidential." Ariadne hiccupped a laugh as she looked out her window again and the Point Man swore nothing compared to being the reason she smiled. Out the window, the sun was more than halfway tucked into its horizon blanket and the first two stars were waking up in the purple streaks the sun's rays left behind in the sky. "What about you? How was your first session of Defense?"

The Architect fiddled with the cap on her tea, "Oh. Well I thought about it and I agree with you. It's a bunch to deal with. And I don't need it just yet, so…" she unscrewed it and then took a swig. Undoubtedly, it took the Point by surprise. More so than her outburst, "I want to be part of the operation."

Squeak. His chair sounded as he slouched back and rubbed his forehead. He knew it was coming but he hoped it be weeks down the road. Ariadne babbled on and listed all of the pros. Her posture got taller and prouder the more excited she got, "I know a way we can sneak in and catch them off guard, I can design a model of the hideout so we can go under and drill for it and—"

"Ok."

"Arthur, I need to do this for myse—wait." She blinked back and gaped, "Did you just approve?"

Arthur sucked in all the oxygen he could hold, "I don't approve. I _hate_ the idea." He watched her deflate and look out the window again. (The world was dark now.) "But I can work with our schedules to find a time where you can attend the meetings." Hard swallow, "You need a good five months of sparring and weaponry. If we're going to alter the plan we'll need to get on it ASAP and the sooner you can have a model ready, the better."

Ariadne's look of tentative hopefulness made him queasy. "That was easier than I thought…"

"Just one—two requests." A nod was his cue to forge ahead, "Leave Bruce to me…and walk back out of there alive."

"I can do that," smiled the girl. Eames' story from earlier popped into her head with his second request. Filled with sympathy all of a sudden, she pulled him into a hug. "I'll be fine." He was silent. Tense. "Really. Don't worry."

Arthur sounded forlorn, "I know. I need to start working on letting things go anyway." She squeezed tighter because she wasn't fond of the insinuation. Since she didn't like that, she definitely was opposed to what he verbalized after, "As it gets closer, I think I need to gradually reduce our number and length of visits."

Tighter. "Don't start this again…"Perhaps she thought that if she constricted him enough he wouldn't be able to keep traveling in the direction his thoughts were going.

He softly pushed her back. Dark eyes pleaded with her, "For my sake, Ari. Please." The Parisian frowned so he quickly added, "I won't avoid you. And whatever you need me for: I'll be there, I'll do it. But it's necessary for me personally to eliminate the extraneous time together."

"I'm finally getting back to myself," her head tilted, "and you're pulling away again."

"Something will happen to you. It might be a paper cut, it might be fatal but it's inevitable and I will go insane if I don't pull away. I don't want to repeat what happened back home." Ariadne grimaced while he stood and followed him through her quarters to the front, "If I don't care as much, I won't be as governing. I don't want us to fight. I want us to come away from this experience with a decent friendship intact. When we part, I want it to be on good terms."

"Me too." Her voice was cheery but her face was dejected. The friendship part hit harder than the rest of it had regardless of the good intentions she was sure he had in using it.

Arthur cupped her cheek, "Goodnight."

Ariadne pressed it closer with her hand covering his, "Goodnight," and then they both let their hands fall so he could leave.  
xxxxxx

**T-Minus four months.**

Ariadne's schedule changed to allow time for everything. Her therapy was split up so that physical and combat was one day and psycho and target was the next so she could attend their briefings Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday and use the other time to work on her models or rest. It was emotionally difficult for her at first to go back through her memory and sketch out the entirety of the concealed prison. There was very little she could work on it a day without it being too much—without recollecting the terrors. It took her several weeks to complete a sketch and now she was steadily constructing a 3-D form board model for them. The rough draft was complete so they could study and get a grasp of the levels. What she was currently working on was an in-depth final model that showed every nook, cranny and cell to a tee. Since time was ticking and they were at the halfway point to the day of, their 'in' in the Woods snuck away (during the commotion of an oil attack his faction was sent on) and was picked up and flown to Japan by Saito's men. He came in that day ready to settle in and relay all the things he'd discovered: List of their short term goals, their progression on their search for Ariadne, intel on the people.

Saito had to come and go due to his other responsibilities. He needed to stay active in the goings on of his empire, keep trades up, and keep wondering heads from suspecting his focus on something else. He'd flown back in for the week, though, and he and the Team had just finished up the conference where they confirmed the workers they would use for the operation. Which was after careful background checks and assessments of the cognizant and physical abilities of all the volunteers. When they gathered again on Saturday, they would select the group of volunteers to stay on location, watch the screens, block signals and all of the technical work. They stood from the long mahogany table and gathered their papers together so they could take their lunch when Kashi and Hiro and Isaac (three of Saito's own personal secret service) brought in the man they'd been waiting for. Six foot two, rugged blonde who was undeniably roughed up by his stint in the Woods. He looked tired, stressed…

"Mr. Saito, Mr. Jesse Kavchak has arrived."

He was ushered in and all took turns shaking his hand. When it came to Ariadne's turn, something triggered internally at his green eyes. And there was something about the dimple in his chin. Without realizing it, she was glaring strangely at him. Dissecting him. He cleared his throat, "Um, do you think I'm hideously unattractive or—?"

"Oh no," The Architect realized what she what doing, rubbed her head and smiled courteously at him, "I'm sorry. I—I've seen your picture in the employee database and it's always weird to see a photograph you've been looking at in person." She had to wipe her hand off afterwards. Jesse's hands were slippery with sweat. She flickered her eyes down his form and back up innocently enough. The man's sleeves were rolled as high as they would go and the first few buttons undone…he appeared to be burning up. She knew the feeling; the initial few hours after crawling out of the hole everything was bright and loud and hot—probably why he blinked a lot and squinted his eyes when he moved his head. "It sucks, doesn't it?"

"I beg your pardon?"

The Architect identified well with him and felt like she could commiserate to warm him up to her; she felt bad for scrutinizing him the second he walked through the door. "Your first time out of the hatch. It does a real number on your body. It's hard readjusting to the real world when you've spent months in the cold, dark and quiet." The boys always felt awkward about their curiosity when she would reveal things from her time there but Jesse snickered at himself and nodded, "Yeah. I practically barfed out my intestines the first time." Red flag. He'd been out more than once? He was supposed to check in every time they sent his faction on a mission and he hadn't reported an ascent until this one.

Eames figured he would have nothing to say during this conversation so he went back to packing, Yusuf followed and spoke lightly to Arthur about Ariadne's recent health test, giving him a copy. The Point nodded but he was tuning the Chemist out and joining Eames and Cobb in their eavesdropping. Well, it wasn't eavesdropping for Cobb he was blatantly leaning against the table and listening intently. Granted he was already packed and ready to go but he observed while he waited for the rest. Ariadne politely solicited a series of questions like an alumni who was curious about someone else's experience in the Woods, "So they made you a Brown?" "Mhm." She hummed, thinking, like she was guessing from his character what duties they'd given him. The jargon sounded like gibberish to the other men, "Con Dig?" "Yup." "Pipes?" "Ew yes." "Second Faction?" She conveniently slipped in to the litany. "Yes." Then Jesse pulled back and looked to the ceiling, "Oh, no—wait. Sixth…sorry."

Ariadne laughed it off, "It's complicated. I'm still confused about what the numbers meant. I thought I was twelfth faction which I guess is impossible…"

Arthur came up behind her, "Ok, I think that's enough discussion about the Woods. You don't want to have another flashback or something. How about we go to lunch?" Ariadne agreed as Saito asked Kashi to give Jesse a tour of the building and set him up on the fourth floor so he could shower and rest. She watched the back of his head until he was out of the room. His hair was buzzed close to the head…they don't mold themselves into Wolffe's image unless they become a permanent brother…Arthur noticed her guardedness and skepticism, "What's wrong?"

_They formed a single file line and were each given sewing needles. The two Blacks held the prisoner up, while Mac and David held candles for the Hoods to heat the needles on when they got close to the front of the line. Ariadne was behind Rusty and a group of other newly initiated Browns. To her disgust, she heard the Hood behind her's keening growl, "I love punishing our traitors. It's such a rush!" The Architect gaped back at him filled with both repulsion and disbelief only to see green eyes and a butt chin leering out at her. _

"I'm not sure."

**Next Chapter: **More of Ariadne's paranoia, More of Mr. Kavchak, More awkward Arthur/Ari.


	19. I'm The Monster

Thank you: _Lazarus76 _Lol, I haven't been updating that often you shouldn't miss much! _Lauraa-x _unfortunately she will have a brief regression because of the paranoia. We'll see if she has a reason to be paranoid though. And it won't get too too too awkward between Art/Ari I promise. And thanks! About the upcoming stories…I'm really excited about the "With You" one because I rarely ever write them in the midst of falling in love and without like crazy ass danger going on too. _Lilachiccups: _your review (the ANNGRRRY part) cracked me up. I love it! hope you enjoy this chappie if ya get around to reading it =) now its pressure not to disappoint ahahah.

**Chapter 19: I'm the Monster.**

With her models complete, the team could now go under and run drills in the dream like they were in the Woods and down the hatch. But if Ariadne was going to be under with them to tweak and guide, both Yusuf and her psychologist Mako informed Arthur they wanted her to have a trial run before anyone else shared mind space with her. No one was sure what images might pop up. The Point Man agreed but insisted he accompany Ariadne and Mako. The Architect wasn't happy with the idea. She wanted Arthur as far away from her dreaded memories as he could be. Yusuf was able to reason with her: would she rather something manifest in front of Saito, his army and the team or just in front of two of her closest friends. Ariadne compromised that she would oblige is just one person came with her. Arthur said it was him or no trial (which meant no job) so Ariadne had to go along with it.

"Now when you wake up, you need to stay for questioning so I can evaluate your stability," Mako reminded while she prepared to push the plunger on the PASIV. Ariadne laid out on the chaise lounge and Arthur propped himself in the large wingback chair beside it, both connected to the device between them on the coffee table in the small office. "Good luck," the shrink smiled and sent them down.

All of a sudden, Ariadne was back in the middle of the underground lair. Dimly lit, monitors displaying everyone she knew in their daily lives on the walls. The Architect fumbled for her totem and backed up near the stairwell, where Arthur had come into the dream at, "It's just a dream." She whipped around to look at the voice and visibly relaxed when she saw the Point Man descending the last few steps. "Is this the main hatch?" He pointed up with his thumb. Ariadne only nodded. The feeling of being back in the dungeon took her vocal abilities away. It was even more dismal and foreboding than Arthur had imagined. He watched Ariadne shrink into herself, her breathing become terse and her eyes flickering everywhere. No doubt, she was afraid a projection of Wolffe would grab her and make her relive the nightmare. The Point offered his hand for her to squeeze and she gladly seized it. They took cautious steps through the main arena and were almost at the tunnels when Ariadne noticed, "Why aren't there any projections?" A wolfish howl echoed through the tunnel and blood splattered on the glass case where the security booth was. Arthur pulled her body closer to his side, "There are." The girl stared through the drops of blood while they streamed down and started. Letting go of Arthur's hand, she rushed around and entered the booth. He quickly followed after. There was a brown haired man in a brown cloak with claw marks through his chest and stomach, bone deep. "Grant?!" Ariadne rushed to his side and took his chin, "Grant?" He was gone.

When Ariadne sulked out of the booth her foot hit another body slumped on the ground. Punctures from claws looked like bullet holes in its back. Then she caught the color…a rustic orange. The Architect dropped to her knees. "No…no, Rusty…" and rolled her over. The holes were so deep they pierced right through her body, "Shit…Mila…"

Arthur pulled on her upper arm, "Come on, let's wake ourselves up." Her limb yanked out of his hold, "No, I need to find that monster." Her eyes were wild with anguish but also with wrath. Ariadne got up and started jogging down the tunnel to the boxes, that's most likely where the wolf would be. The Point Man was right; there were projections, they were just all dead and clawed open on the ground. The two dreamers stepped over and maneuvered around them. Instead of the normal layout of the real place, the boxes were arranged in one long tunnel with entrances on either side. Except the boxes were opened and you could see inside. As they passed each, Ariadne fell more and more distraught. They glanced in and saw the Maus' and Jeff ripped apart, the prisoner she'd helped burn with the needle, the CEO's of Gatu Geaux, Mac, Kenji… They passed one closed door with oil leaking out from the crack and creating a pool of it on the dirt. Ariadne froze in it and covered her mouth…inside had to be the family she drowned in fuel. Breathing heavier, (Arthur was behind so he couldn't see but he suspected tears), she started running down the hallway. Staring into all the rooms. She passed a gutted Cobb and Eames and Yusuf and Saito and Mako and Yossu and Kashi and then she had to stop.

Ariadne screeched to a halt and her hands found to the floor. She was heaving. And everything ached: her head, her stomach, her chest, her lungs. She couldn't take anymore. The Point Man crouched on the ground by her, "Do you want me to wake you up?" The Architect grunted, looked up misty eyed at him and then they were interrupted by a guttural, pained groan. "Agh…Ugh…" It was Arthur's voice. Ariadne cut her eyes to the door. Everything was silent but the sound of her Point Man in torment. The real Point Man witnessed her eyes dry up and get angry again. She stood with force and pushed passed him to march into the box. Projection Arthur was writhing on the ground, a hole where his heart should be and a smashed one on the ground. In the corner, curled up and hiding its face in the darkness was a wolf. Real Arthur started to follow Ariadne closer but she ordered him to wait at the door. She had to do this herself. It was like Cobb and the shade of Mal. The nearer she got to the beast, the more contractions she noticed in its movement. Arthur put his hand on his gun as she took a deep breath and grabbed a fistful of its fur. Then Ariadne wrenched it out of the corner and into the middle of the floor. It was crying and it sounded like—it didn't fight her when she rolled it over.

Ariadne saw her face. It was her, a human body morphing into an animal (already halfway there). "I killed them. It's my fault. I killed them all," the beast that looked like her whimpered. Wide eyed, Ariadne looked down at herself and sure enough her clothes were stained with blood, her hands were dripping wet, the crimson dripped from her (now) sharp, claw-like nails. She felt it dried on her face. Horrified, she looked up at the real Point Man and his eyes looked the same as hers: shocked. Her gaze slid down to projection Arthur—the symbolism clear that she had ripped his heart out and continued to torture him through her self-loathing and stunted emotions. The animalistic Ariadne on the ground grabbed their attention again by whispering, "You can make it right. Even bad wolves can be good..." the paw of the beast moved to its chest and simultaneously Ariadne's followed to her own, magnetized.

Arthur's doppelganger doubled over and rasped in pain again, "Ari, please!"

Without hesitation, the real Ariadne dug her knifelike nails into her chest and tugged out her heart. Instantly it disappeared from her hand and the hole in the projection's chest healed up, he breathed normal again without a hint he'd ever been touched. Gasping and moaning from the surreal amount of pain, Ariadne watched her bloody claws fade back into fingers, then crumbled in a heap to the ground.  
xxxxxx

The Architect's eyes fluttered open and her hand flew immediately to her heart to check it was still there. "What happened?" Mako was ignored. Her head rotated to Arthur's in fear which only partly subsided when it was confirmed that he was still under. She sat up, tore the lead from her arm, "Tell him I'm fine. I'm going back to my quarters to rest." Ariadne grabbed her jacket and rushed out the door while Mako called after her, "We have to discuss your dream!"

Arthur woke not long after the slamming of the therapist's office door. With a huff towards her empty seat (he knew it would be), he extricated the needle from his wrist and gaited out to chase her down. Instead of waiting for the elevator to be free, Arthur ran up three flights of stairs and made it out of the stairwell as Ariadne was rushing out of the elevator. He jogged down and caught her before she could lock herself in her room, "Ariadne." Exasperated that she couldn't get away from him, she groaned. "Is that why you really want to go back?" Deciding she'd rather have this discussion without the possibility of other ears, she let him into her quarters. "You think you have to martyr yourself to make it up to all those people? That you'll be paying some sort of debt off if you die in there?"

Ariadne glared at him first then averted her eyes to the countertop. "It's only fair." The Point Man gawped as she continued, "You saw all the bodies, Arthur. They all died because of something to do with me. Their deaths are my fault. I'm just as guilty as Wolffe!" She broke her thumbnail on the edge of the counter while looking up with wild eyes. "I'm just as evil a monster!"

"You are NOT the monster here!" He labored to convince her and moved closer down the counter, "Why do you see yourself like that?"

"No, why do you _not _see me like that?" Ariadne searched his eyes deep and methodically before turning and storming into her drawing room. "You should hate me!" Arthur, of course, stormed after her. She could feel his presence. Feel his sympathy, his concern, his care and it amped up her criticism of her faults. The Architect whisked around and pushed him back, "Why are you here?!"

The Point's eyes softened, his arms opened as if bearing everything of himself to her, "You know why…" it was evident it was all because he loved her more than anything.

"You saw it down there. That was symbolism plain as day." She pointed out of the room to nowhere in particular. Maybe into the past, "I ripped your heart out! I chose dreaming over you! I deliberately did what you begged me not to! You shouldn't be willing to risk your life to make things right for my sake."

"But I am." He insisted. Even as she shook her head with refusal, even as he guided her arm back down to her side, "I am and I will."

Her arms crossed decidedly over her chest, "I won't let you take the fall. I won't let you fight him to the death—because that's what it'll turn into. You or Cobb or Eames or Yusuf—any one. I'm the problem. I'm who armies of Saito's men and armies of Hoods are battling over. If I have to jump in front of his bullets or jump out that window," she gestured to the one behind her that framed the cherry blossoms, "to end this war without any of you getting hurt then I will." To make a point, she pivoted to the window as if she was fixing to act on her threat.

Arthur stopped her hands, "Then I won't let you come with us. I'll put bars on the windows, I'll take every sharp object out, I'll have bodyguards watching you 24/7." The man before her squeezed her wrists for dear life and half shouted, half rasped, "I can't lose you again."

"You already have." The caramel orbs of the girl bore into his sadly but matter-of-factly, "Just because the scabs on my body are healed doesn't mean the ones in my mind are. Just because I look and act like the old Ariadne again doesn't mean she's there." That ground on Arthur's hope. The tiny woman had been progressing so well and so fast. Her fire and wit was back but here she was telling him it was all for show. Her hands were then taken and gently held in both of his, "She _is_ there; you (he corrected) are _there_." Then he pressed her hands to the left side of his chest, "And you're right here too. I've been keeping you safe. Right there."

Ariadne snaked her hands out of his and repelled her head back from his, they were too close for her to handle. "I thought you said you had to work on letting things go."

"Yes. _Things_!" A loud thud reverberated through her room when his fist collided with her drawing desk. "Personal feelings, fears, problems…Not your life!" His hands pressed into the desk on either side of her, "I can't let go of your life." Next, Ariadne was scooped into his arms. He forced her into his embrace with one hand around her waist, one of the back of her head and his nose buried in her neck. "I can't let go of you, Ari. I can't." Arthur feared that if he even released her from this encirclement of his body, she would find a way to leave the world for good.

The Architect waited until he loosened, minutes later. Only at that point did she whisper, "You need to try." She locked herself in her bedroom before he comprehended the words. He stared into the space she stood then let himself out.  
xxxxxx

Lunch was good the next day. They'd had another stock of fresh fish delivered in the night before so they were serving up rolls and rolls of sushi. Cobb detected a melancholy aura between Arthur and Ariadne but didn't comment as Yusuf had asked about their trial before Ari showed up and Arthur gave him the nastiest 'don't bring it up' scowl. Cobb didn't want a similar look. As usual the time came for them to go their separate ways. Kashi had rejoined them just minutes before they wrapped up. Always the first to go because of therapy, Ariadne stood with her tray of trash in hand. "Where's Jesse?" She asked Kashi. Figured he would know since he gave him the tour.

"In his quarters." Smiled the man respectfully before she pressed the issue, "And you saw him go in?" Cobb shot a look at Arthur and then they both eyed her curiously. "Yes. The shower switched on before I left." The chopsticks at his side were picked up and unwrapped. Eames sensed the off-key demeanor and started to ask, "Tiny, Are you alri—"

Ariadne grabbed Yusuf's wrist and looked at his watch, "Will someone intercom Yossu and tell him I'm on my way?" Kashi offered to and pressed his earpiece. "And to wait for me in the hallway?" added the girl as an afterthought before her deep breath and departure. Saito was the one to speak first, "She does not like Jesse."

"No." Cobb squinted his eyes, "He makes her nervous. And that makes _me _nervous." He shoveled another forkful of rice in his mouth.

Yusuf tampered with his empty milk carton. (Or one of them. The Chemist loved the chocolate milk they had and drank like four a meal.) "It makes sense. He's just come back from the Woods. She'd be wary of anyone from there. I think Ariadne's just—"

"—Paranoid?" intercepted the Forger.

"No. Concerned he's been corrupted, perhaps."

Arthur swallowed the sashimi in his mouth and peered at them, "Well, keep your eyes peeled."

"I agree." Said Dom.  
xxxxxx

Ariadne could not focus. She was being flipped to the ground, twisted around and accidentally hit all over the place. She wasn't really seeing what Yossu was doing (which obviously would help her defend herself) because her peripherals were glued on the figure in the observation window. Jesse had sauntered up halfway through her session and had been watching her. And we all know Ariadne hated the feeling of being watched. He would smile when she or her trainer looked at him but other than that, he did not move. He stared. Yossu figured Ariadne had had a rough day so he gave her an early water break.

She plopped on the floor, her skin sheening with sweat, water bottle in her lap and her earpiece held to her ear. ** . . **"Yeah."

"Arthur?" Her breaths were labored yet not entirely from the exercise. Still, she felt the chill bumps and tingling in her face and lungs. Jesse maintained his ogling. She turned her head so all he could see was the back of it and not how her lips were moving.

Even the Point's voice was a soothing balm to her apprehension, "Hey, what's up?"

"I'm finishing up Defense…" Ariadne fought hard to control the telling fidget of her foot by distracting herself with a sip of ice water. "Could you meet me here and walk with me when I'm done?"

"Of course." Already, there was the shuffling of papers and the sound of beeps and doors. Since the debacle from the day before hadn't hindered her need for him, he made sure to make good of it and be Johnny on the Spot. "Is everything alright?" Think. Think. Think. Where was Jesse? Had anyone seen him lately? Since the security room was on the way, he stopped by, let himself in and pulled up the heat scan of the blonde's room. No signal= equals no Jesse. Her trepidation about the guy bothered him and the fact that she was asking him to escort her _really _bothered him. Arthur sped up his stride.

Ariadne attempted to come off non-chalant, "Yeah. I just feel weird."

The down button lit up when he pressed it and waited for the elevator by watching the lights above the doors. He inquired, "Should I bring Yusuf? If you're feeling sick maybe we should take you to the medics before dinner."

"No. I don't feel sick. Just—" The hairs on her neck stood up with the sound of a door opening. She twisted to see that it was only Yossu coming out of the bathroom. And in spite of herself glanced back over to the observation window to find that Jesse was gone. But she still felt eyes. Eyes that weren't Yossu's or hers in the mirror. "Weird…"

Arthur stepped into the open elevator and chose floor 2. "On my way."  
xxxxxx

Ariadne wet some paper towels in the bathroom. She used the one on her forehead to wipe off her perspiration and the one on her neck to calm herself down. The prospect that Jesse had been a Hood at one point (so had she but still) was getting her too overworked. Every emotion she remembered feeling tied up and tortured in a box of black rushed back when she looked at him. His aura was foreboding. He did not act like the kind of humble, respectful and gratuitous men Saito employed. He was very charming. Therefore, she viewed him as very manipulative. His grin when she caught his eyes echoed Wolffe's and all she wanted was to curl into a ball and vomit when she thought about it.

Meanwhile, Arthur was having a talk with Yossu. More and more people were noticing the change in Ariadne again. The personnel that worked closely with her were concerned that she was regressing, closing back up, and all in the matter of one day. He explained that in their most recent combat session, her attention span had been limited. Ariadne was forgetful and often asked him to repeat what he said. While exercising, she would zone out. Every few seconds she would glimpse at the observation window. And got visibly tense if Yossu had to excuse himself to the bathroom and leave her alone in the gym room. "It might be beneficial for you to clear her schedule tomorrow and maybe Saturday. She's overstrained. Ariadne needs to rest."

At that moment, the Architect stepped out of the restroom. Arthur waved her over and closed out the exchange with Yossu. To his astonishment, Ariadne asked him to walk her back to her room and not to the dining floor. "I'm not hungry." She shrugged.

"Your nutritionist said you need three good meals a day. What if I brought something up to you?" The Point didn't like the sour face she made at that. "I'll sneak you up a root beer float…" They reached her door but she continued surveying the area so he proposed, "Or I can hang with you and I'll order up something for us both." It seemed like she was too preoccupied with the hallway to decide so Arthur opened the door and pulled her in. He refrained from confronting her about her behavior as they ate dinner; instead, he channeled on boosting her confidence and getting her mind off of whatever it was on. However, when she asked him if she could go with and sit in the security room with him while he prepared material for their meeting Saturday (because he had listened to Yossu and cancelled the rest of her week's activities) because she didn't "feel like" being alone, he couldn't skirt around it. As Ariadne opened her door with bag slung over her shoulder full of her sketchbook, markers and a couple Japanese magazines to keep her occupied, Arthur grabbed her hands and guided her back in, "What are you afraid of?"

"What?" A struggled smirk.

"Something's bothering you. What is it? Is it Jesse?" Ariadne's mouth opened and then closed. Then she sat down on the small sofa and repeated. "Ariadne you've asked me to escort you everywhere since he's gotten here. You're constantly worried about his whereabouts, you look at him funny. What aren't you telling me?"

Stumbling over her words, she explained, "He's been _there. _I—I just don't- I don't know, Arthur. He makes me feel strange. Like he knows something I don't and he finds it comical that I can't figure it out."

His eyes trail along the wall for no reason, "I think that's just Jesse's personality. He's arrogant. I ran another background check on him after I got back to my room last night for you. He's not been linked to the Hoods prior to this. He's worked for Saito's American sister company since he was eighteen. He interned there. Ari, he checks out or I wouldn't let him be here."

Ariadne didn't buy it hook, line and sinker but she shrugged. It appeased her for the moment but she asked if she could go with him anyway. She hadn't said anything to the Team because she knew that was how they would react. Plus she had no proof. After all, when she was first reunited with the Team she had been distrustful of Cobb and Eames. Part of her was calling herself paranoid and the other part was demanding that she recognized him.  
xxxxxx

Lunch the next day was dreaded because he joined them for it. Immediately upon seeing her, he had to comment on her appearance. "Looking good today, Red." Jesse saluted her with a cheeky smirk.

_Red._ She dropped her tray on the table forcefully, "What did you just say?"

"I said you look good in red."

"No." Ariadne turned her head, "You _called _me, 'Red.'"

His hand ran over his shortly cropped hair, "I think you misunderstood…"

Arthur felt Ariadne scrunch the back of his jacket in her fist. "I'm not hungry anymore," and then marched away.  
xxxxxx

Bang. Bang. Bang. Arthur pounded on her door. He'd run his badge through the scanner over and over and she wouldn't buzz him in. It was near supper and no one had seen her since her outburst at lunch. She had not allowed anyone into her room or taken any calls. He decided to try calling her again in case she was afraid someone (Jesse) had taken his badge and was using it to get through her door. She picked up sounding diverted to their talk before it'd begun. "Let me in, please."

Ariadne glanced at the door. There was no one outside. A few of the company men shoved another file at her and she thumbed through it at the same time she said, "I'm not in my room. I'm up in security." The Architect called across the room to Jenimae, "I need this picture magnified on the two faces in the grass and blow up Jesse's company badge from last year."

"You're worrying the Team," Arthur verbalized.

She rifled through the manila folder more and warned, "Good. You should be worried. I found something you guys need to see." Arthur powerwalked towards the elevator, "We'll be right up."

"Bring me a pudding. I never ate lunch."  
xxxxxx

Arthur informed Yusuf and Cobb and then beeped Eames. "Yes love?"

"Where are you?" The elevators were taking too long. Around dinner they got crowded with the shifts of workers flocking towards sustenance. So Arthur was climbing the many stairs. As he rounded the corner Eames let out a satisfied sigh, "The happiest place in this joint: the dinner table."

"Grab Ariadne a pudding and get to the security room pronto."

Eames made a confused face though the Point didn't have the great fortune of being graced with it, "That certainly is a strange combination of requests but aye Captain. I am on my way." In less than a minute, Eames scarfed down the rest of his teriyaki chicken, tofu and beef broth and gulped down some coke. Adeptly, he did a fancy turn with the tray to dunk the trash and place it on the bin and then beckoned to Jesse at the food line, "Toss me a rice pudding will you mate?"

The man took the one off his tray, chucked it at the Forger and then grabbed another for himself on the way down the line. Eames slipped a plastic dinnerware package from an unsuspected eater at a table near the door and slipped out. He, too, took the option of running up the stairs (got a cramp on the way. Karma for gluttony he supposed) and bounded into the room where the rest of them were waiting. He slid the cup to the Architect, "Here, my Dear." Caught his breath and then asked what all the commotion was about. (Have we caught Bin Laden yet? Ahah—his joke was not received well.)

Hurriedly, out of hunger, she ripped open the pudding and the spoon and took a bite before diving in. "You need to get Jacob out of here."

The team deadpanned at her. Ariadne allowed herself another large mouthful. Then slapped pictures on the table for them. "They knew if I saw a man and woman I would identify them as Grant and Mila without checking." The one on top was of the two "by passers" left dead on the ground in the Maus' lawn. It was zoomed in on their upper bodies. A frown crossed her face when she pointed to the woman, "That's Rusty…or Mila Nguyen she was the Chemist roped into the Dream Division with me." Ariadne looked up and met eyes with Yusuf—maybe because he reminded her of her, maybe because they were both Chemists, or maybe by coincidence, "She helped smuggle me out of there." Following a sniffle, she pointed hard at the man next to her, "But that is _not _Grant." She coughed and then moved the picture over so they could view the one beneath it which was a closer (marginally pixelated) version of the one before but of only the man's face, "_That _is Jesse Kavchak." The 2012 Company ID of his was enlarged and deposited beside the photo. They were identical despite the fuzziness. The Architect judged their perplexed reactions and after having to clear her throat, spooned some more food into her.

Ariadne eyed Arthur. On the surface there danced her typical bravado. Her sly joy of cracking the case. Her distinctive confidence. Beneath the layers and lurking inside the pupils of her eyes was fear. "They killed your mole." The Architect took the remote and let the static monitor on the wall come to life. Ariadne coughed a few times. There was already a security video (from the parking lot cameras) pulled up of the most recent Hood assault after the death of Jesse and before 'Jesse' had flown in. It played for four seconds prior to her pausing it on one Hood's face as he turned. She cleared her throat again. The last picture she showed them was the high school yearbook picture (last picture recorded and only one found) of—"And replaced him with Jacob Mullins." When sitting side by side with the pictures of Jesse Kavchak, the similarities were uncanny. They both had blonde hair, the same nose and dimple chin. But whereas Jesse had blue eyes, Jacob had green. Bright green eyes that Ariadne's subconscious luckily committed to memory. She coughed a few more times. Upon hearing it, one of the sweet Asians brought her a cup of water. Right away—immediately after it clicked in his head—Arthur was on his earpiece, "Find Jesse Kavchak. This is a red alert." As he was doing so and Eames was staring all baffled by the pictures and Yusuf was glaring at the monitor and Cobb was pulling the gun out of his belt, suspecting Arthur would have them jumping into action—Ariadne put the cup to her lips and then dropped it on the ground when she coughed again. And again. And then gagged. And then coughed. Yusuf whipped around with wide eyes, "Ariadne?"

His hand was on her back, his other pulling out a hanky for her use. Eames (with his fingers still resting on one of the photos) looked up concerned. Cobb called for another glass of water and Arthur dropped his hand from his communication device and gaited to her. The Architect clamored to bring the kerchief up to her mouth—gagged—and blood came out. "Yusuf, what's wrong?" Arthur demanded. "Ariadne?" There was no use asking she couldn't answer…she was kinda busy. The Extractor ran over with another cup of water that she knocked out of his grasp as she gripped the edge of the desk and heaved to breathe. The coughs were coming so fast and every time she tried to take a breath between it was hindered by the build-up of blood in her throat. Yusuf didn't know what the hell was happening so he yelled in a panic, "Get her to the medics, NOW."

He didn't need telling twice. Arthur scooped her up and ran down the hallway. Stairs or elevator? The Medics were on floor one and they were on floor seven. That was a long way to run and what if he tripped with her in his arms? But the elevator would be slow. What if it was a long wait? He paced back and forth, the sounds of her struggling hindered his judgment. Then he decided on the elevator and strode to the end of the hallway. The other men followed closely after. "What has she eaten today?" Yusuf asked for anyone to answer. He heard Dom ask Eames, "Wait—where did you get that pudding?"

There was a stutter and then "Oh hell." Arthur jammed his thumb into the button and shot him a murderous look. Eames deadpanned with fatal realization, "I asked the mole to toss me one from the bin and he tossed me the one from his tray…"

"Jacob." The wolf hunter was back and he growled that name as if thirsty for his blood. In impeccable timing, voices rung through his earpiece, "Sir, we found the culprit. He was last seen up on floor five and we've got a heat image of him by Ms. Bourgeois' door clocked at 6:14." That was just two minutes ago. Sorrowful, he gritted, "I have to leave you." Despite the fit, her finger dug into his chest through his garments. Arthur addressed Dom, "He's knows I won't leave her. She's a distraction." He gestured for Eames to take her as the elevator opened. The Point kissed her fingers after he pried them off, motioned for Cobb to follow him to the stairwell and ordered Eames and Yusuf, "Make sure she gets there."

They rushed in. Yusuf instructed Eames to let her head back to let the blood drain down. The hands of the Point pressed against the doorway before the metal slid shut and repeated himself, "Make _sure_ she _gets _there." It was a different meaning. The first time he said it he meant take her down to the medics and guard her from the roaming, undercover Hood on the way. The second time it was a caveat. It meant they better not let her die before she got there. If he lost her on their watch…  
xxxxxx

Arthur and Cobb sprinted down to level five and slunk down the halls with guns drawn. They rounded the corner and came face to face with their prey. The Hood gave them one look and then bolted back and through the halls as they gave chase. A door swung open and slammed closed. Dom instructed, "You go down the stairs, I'll wait for him at the bottom." Arthur nodded and busted through the door. It was eerily quiet. His first instinct was to press his back against the wall and look up. No, Jacob wanted out, he would go down. The Point opened the door again and let it close of its own accord, then step by step tip toed down with gun at eyelevel. Randomly, another person's breath sounded.  
xxxxxx

As soon as the door opened they flew down the hall, calling out. A doctor passing in the hall, gasped, "What happened?" Yusuf could not find an understandable way to string a sentence together so Eames breathily spurted, "Something in her pudding. Can't breathe. Coughing up blood."

The Doctor pulled over a gurney for Eames to lay her down on while talking into his earpiece, "Attention all medical personal: Ariadne. Code purple." They wheeled her into the closest room where he pulled out a respirator and attached it into her nostrils. Nurses and doctors came out of the woodworks and crowded her two friends out of the room. One of them stuck in an iv, another felt for her pulse and felt at her head. They were spouting out urgently in Japanese. Handing each other tools and scrubbing in. At last, they seemed to come to a conclusion. And the lead doctor yelled the same thing at them at least twenty times over. Three nurses rushed out and brought back a stomach pumper. Another took a needle and injected something into the extra opening in her IV. "What is that?" Eames strained to see in. Yusuf guessed, (he had to strain harder that Eames to see anything and still couldn't get but a brief visual) "Must be inflammatories to open up her airways; make it easier to breathe."

"She's going to be fine. Right?" The image of the stomach pumper being rolled in unnerved the Forger. Yusuf looked at him with more reassurance than he was convinced of himself, "She's Ariadne. She always ends up fine." They put her under and then inserted a tube through her nose while listening to her stomach with a stethoscope to make sure the tube was inserted far enough and not lodged in her lungs. A nurse held a suction device by her mouth, ready for any vomit that might've come and they began infusing her with stuff (as Eames only knew how to identify it) and then sucking it and other contents (including some blood) back out. His thoughts wandered to Dom and Arthur.  
xxxxxx

Arthur looked over the railing. Clashed brown eyes with green. He hopped over it to the next landing, ran and launched himself off the stairs to tackle the guy against the wall. They struggled, Arthur took a blow to the face and scrambled to follow the kid out the door to the second floor. It was empty because Ariadne's therapy was the only use for the floor and everyone that worked with her was off duty. Bullets rippled through the air and the Hood dodged them all with finesse and agility. All but the one that sent him tumbling to the ground because of the metal in his thigh. Arthur seized him. Jacob had enough strength left in him to keep them rolling and fighting for who would stay on top. Ultimately, the Point Man won out by straddling Jacob's waist and punching him twice. The first broke his nose and the second nearly cracked his jaw.

Despite his life liquid streaming down his face and spurting from his mouth as he coughed (like he'd made Ariadne do…son of a bitch), Jacob grinned at him. Ariadne's earlier description of him, the one where she described how infuriatingly impudent he could be? The one she explained that when he looked at her it was like he was taunting her with a secret? The Point Man felt it down to his bones. Jacob had stopped struggling or fighting back. He just laughed at him. Even as Arthur twisted his arm and held it over his face, even as he suffocated to death, he emitted calm. Like he was proud to die. Like it didn't matter if he did because little did Arthur know, something would still happen.

**Beep.**

It didn't come from his Bluetooth. It came from the dead man beneath him. Arthur moved off and felt around the man's person. There was a hard pack on his stomach…he ripped open Jacob's shirt. In red numbers it counted **1:57, 1:56, 1:55, 1:54…**The Hood was going to blow and take the building, hundreds of innocents, the master of the energy industry, his best friends and Ariadne with him.  
xxxxxx

**NEXT CHAPTER: well obviously, the bombing. **

R/R Suggestions on who to save?


	20. CONTROL

Thank yous: _Lauraa-x _I really liked that section too. Yeah poor Mila but if you think about it, when Ari was determined alive it was Mila's fault for falsely stating she was dead. To the Hoods, Grant had no idea, he was just following procedure, it was the Chemist who'd messed up. _HelsoJediShade66: _Thanks. I haven't had enough cliffies in this one. Will in the coming chapters though! _Birdy21: _Haha, well Arthur is an overachiever so we'll see. Thanks for all the reviews! Better late to the party than never. _mbarca: _yay! I'm glad you gave it a chance. I know…but the reviews I do have are awesome sauce. I think a lot of readers stayed away or stopped reading because of the dark content which is understandable. _lilachiccups: _I won't kill you, I promise. It's gotta get worse before it gets better right? Hehe

And special additional thank you's to _mbarca _and _Birdy21 _for becoming story followers! Ari/Art love you! Wolffe hates you but who cares about him? He hates everyone.

**Chapter 20: CONTROL**

_Cobb opens the door. He seems different somehow even though it's only been a week since he saw him last in Kuwait. And it's not the flush in his face or the creases in his brow either. Dom normally addresses Arthur with confidence and warmth, this greeting is vulnerable, rushed, and halfway there. "Art. We weren't expecting you." The Point does his best not to seem distracted by the weirdness for his friend's sake and jokes, "No, when are you ever? I was passing over to settle the account crap in the Keys and thought I'd stop off and drop some late birthday presents for James and Pip." There's a muffled sound of glass breaking and French profanities that startles both of them but whereas the Extractor reigns in a jolt and sharpens his eyes, Arthur flits his eyes behind him and puts on a mask of indifference. The couple must be in the middle of a fight… "Where _are _the kids? School? I forgot what day it is." Cobb grits, "Penelope had to take them out for a bit. Ice cream and the park." They both nod at the other and uncomfortably shift around on the porch. Arthur mentions in afterthought, "Oh. I need the kids' ssn's and the amount you want to transfer to open up the savings accounts for them while I'm down there." Cobb looks hesitant. Sighs. "Yeah. Come in. I'll get it." Its comfortable for Arthur to be in the Cobb household. He walks in and takes a seat on the couch he's slept over on many a time. He thinks Dom has gotten the information and come to give it to him when he sees a figure stand in the doorway in his peripherals. It's a mistake. The person in the doorway is lovelier than Dom, slender, graceful. Arthur smiles at her affectionately, "Hey Mal." The stomach of the Point hollows out when he realizes that she seems different too and he has to feel for his totem…and reality is confirmed. Mallorie Cobb doesn't answer him. She glares at him, distrusting, suspicious, almost hateful. "Mal, sweetie," Dom paces back into the room and practically shoves the folders into Arthur's hands. He's in a rush to get him out, Arthur notices. "Arthur said hello." The Point opens the top manila folder and combs through it to give them a semblance of privacy. He hears a gritted Parisian accent, "That is not Arthur. That's your projection of him." An exasperated sigh, "Watch." There's a whirring and a small clink. "See? It fell. We're awake." The room fills with eerie for Arthur while she hisses, "Of course it fell. You don't believe you're dreaming. You willed it to!" Arthur grabs at his pocket for his dice for assurance, turns his head to sneak a peek at the Cobbs, sees Dom already eyeing him. "Please, just go be cordial. He's fixing to leave." That's his cue. Arthur stands. Mal takes a step back and accuses her husband, "Are you afraid he'll think I'm crazy, Dom? He's not real!" "Please. Not right now." Mal saunters over to circle Arthur, breathing down his neck, "Just admit you don't want to alert him to the strangeness of the dream because you know he'll attack…" Again, Arthur has to cinch his fingers around his totem because hell yes this is strange. He looks at Cobb flabbergasted. The Extractor rubs his hand over his face and pushes on Arthur's back to guide him to the door. In the background, Mal starts to grunt in frustration and breaks another glass. "It was good to see you, Arthur." Except his friend doesn't mean it. It's an empty sentiment to throw at him to make it easier to close the door in his face. Arthur holds out an arm and stops it, "What's going on, Dom? Why does she think we're dreaming?" At this, Cobb shakes his head and pushes—manually forces—out a laugh, "She's just confused. We were experimenting again a few days ago, things got a little out of our control and we dropped pretty far down. It felt like a long time. She's disoriented. She's fine." But Arthur knows she's not. They are not. This is not. Mal sounds like she's lost her mind in limbo…days after the fact. He levels a look at his friend, "Define _out of your control, _Dom. You control the scape and depth, how did you accidentally fall down that far?" The door is slammed in his face.  
xxxxxx_

The building wouldn't explode. Not if he could help it.

Arthur slung the body over his shoulder and burst through the stairwell door. He huffed and puffed but he made down the flight of stairs and dashed through the bottom floor. If there was one thing Arthur was good at—if he had to bet his life on any of his traits he would bet on his ability to make split second decisions and think on his feet. That's how he pulled off dropping his team and creating a kick in zero gravity in under two minutes: Improvising. "Arthur!" Cobb dashed when he saw him come through the door with Jacob hanging over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, "You got him?" The one with the darker hair pushed passed and to the elevator and yelled over his shoulder, "Get them to open the garage."

The Extractor knew better than to ask why. He just did. But he watched Arthur surge into the moving box beforehand, "If I don't pull this off tell Ariadne she was worth the shot." (Assuming she survived her own calamity.) He'd broken the two minute record before, he could do it again. That was his mantra while he rode the ground floor elevator down to the parking garage. He pushed himself to the first vehicle he could get to (it happened to be parked a good eighteen feet away), bashed the window in with Jacob's head and reached in to unlock it.

Jacob's body was lobbed into the passenger seat, with his shirt up so Arthur could keep track of the time left and Arthur dove his head under the steering wheel. The cover was easily pulled off. His eyes narrowed, he started sweating trying to find the two red wires to strip and twist together. He pepped at the flashing numbers: **1:04, 1:-03, 1:02… **Bingo. The car revved up. The gas pedal slammed to the floor and the car squealed and squeaked as it climbed the levels. At the top, he was closed in. Damnit. The car screeched to a halt the tip of it bending the front bumper and shattering the lights. Arthur was utterly vexed. He only allowed himself a second to bang on the steering wheel in frustration before he clicked his headset on, "Open the top of the garage!" "Yes sir!" It was lifting but lifting slowly. As it moved it scraped against the metal of the automobile and made the sound of nails against the chalkboard. Rrrvvv, Rrrrrrrrvvv, Rrrrrvvvv, The Point's foot tested the gas. **30, 29, 28—**The blue sedan he jacked shot out of there increasing speed while the seconds decreased. Miles and miles and miles; the car vibrated, bumped and jostled him around on the uneven terrain and he could feel (much less hear) the wind beating on the windshield like the pounding in his heart. **16,15,14… **He passed the cherry blossoms and ponds that Ariadne spent her afternoons fawning over, passed the gazebo, through the chain link fence at the edge of the property and out into the acreage of countryside Saito thankfully owned.

When the clock reached zero…nothing happened. At least nothing happened where Arthur was. But on the surgery table, Ariadne exploded and the building around them collapsed. Fire blasted from the inside and burst all the windows. Frying her doctors, Eames and Yusuf with is. First, the floor the medics were on cracked and then the rest of it crumbled atop and created a dust cloud. Several of the blocks toppled over and debris of all kinds (furniture, pieces of the roof, boulders of building, body parts) went flying everywhere. A chunk of the edge of the building landed in the coy pond, flaming—

No. None of that happened. But when Arthur's second thoughts and reasonable doubt kicked in at the ten second mark he reluctantly/involuntarily imagined it as one of the horrific possibilities. He _had _figured Jacob planted a distraction and hoped to hell as he was burning rubber that the distraction wasn't Jacob and that the Hoods hadn't succeeded in luring him away from Ariadne when she needed him the most. After all, that was becoming a pattern for him. When the clock reached eight (for real), the Point gave one last thrust to the gas and then opened the door and went tumbling out onto the ground. The car kept speeding like a bat out of hell and as soon as Arthur stopped toppling, he ignored the shoulder out of socket, scrapes and face full of grass and pushed up to his feet to haul ass away from there.  
xxxxxx

'_I had it under control." Cobb insists. He's been insisting that a lot lately. In fact, the more Mal shows up in their dreams and sabotages their life's work, the more he insists everything is handled. Arthur bites back, "I'd hate to see out of control." The thing is: ever since Mal died, Cobb has become some kind of helpless wanderer. He can't go home but he doesn't know where else to go either. It's pathetic, really, the level of chaos that surmounts each time he shares his subconscious with Cobb's. You'd think the Extractor should be able to pull his shit together. She's dead. That's plain and simple fact. If he's looking at her ghost, obviously it's a dream. Why is there any questioning it? Yet each time he's powerless to her effects and he stands idly by and lets her/it/whatever it is destroy every job they've worked to perfect. The unruliness of Dom's imagination and his complete disregard for self-preservation pisses Arthur off. Yes, he knows how much Cobb must miss her. He knows how much he loved her, what a great human being she was but should that really affect anything? He's had years to grieve. When it came down to it, Cobb had no self-control. Something Arthur—after witnessing its destruction—vowed he would never lose. Especially to something so trivial as love. Mostly because the torment he had to watch his best friend suffer terrified him. He'd been through his own grief before but had no desire to reach that depth of it. No, to be in control was to survive.  
xxxxxx_

Even miles in the clear, the building shook like a volcano had erupted and a giant, all encompassing, thunderous boom reverberated. Dom, who was leant against the front desk, heard the Forger pant through the headphone, "What was that god-awful sound?"

"I'm hoping it wasn't Arthur…" The Extractor looked at the security monitors and at the mushroom cloud in the horizon. On one of the feeds he saw a lanky figure in a ruffled suit limping and holding his arm. Air rushed out of his cheeks; his forehead rested against the cool marble desk in front of him to relish the relief. Next, he shook the shoulder of the worker at the computer, "Arthur's wounded. Get a cart out there."

"Mr. Saito wants to know what happened."

"Tell him Jesse double crossed us and Arthur just saved this building from being blown to smithereens. Send a cart." Cobb decided he wasn't going to wait for them to do anything and sprinted out the doors to the back of the building. Arthur was far past the trees and the ponds and the gazebos but he still figured he could run to him faster than the medics would come rolling in with their cart. Especially with the chaos surrounding Ariadne inside and the rate the other workers were processing the most recent problem. In the distance, he saw Arthur fall and face plant into the grass. He sped up his velocity though Arthur seemed to instantaneously start pushing himself back up with one arm. "How's Ari?" Of course he was curious and he _did _care but he mostly asked to keep his brain occupied. It was not a British accent that replied but Yusuf's, "They are pumping the mess out of her stomach. Still don't know what it is. No more blood though."

He nearly tripped on a rock and fell into one of the ponds, "Is she gonna make it?"

"That remains to be seen…"

"I was hoping for a more concrete answer than that. You know it's the first thing Arthur's going to ask." He kept his eye on the aforementioned. He was up and had spotted the Extractor, he waved to him. "Oh! So he's alive?" Yusuf chimed back, "Sweet."

"The bloke's alive, huh? Whew." Whistled Eames. He tried to make it sound flippant but the alleviation came out and told he cared. "Does he still have all his appendages? And those adorable dumbo ears? We'll also hope for Ari's sake he still has his man parts."

Cobb slowed as he got closer to the Point, couldn't help but laugh. They could both hear the engine of the cart being sent out after them. "All accounted for." A piece of the car door landed abruptly in the coy pond.  
xxxxxx

"_Give. It. Back." Arthur crosses his arms and tries to puff his chest out. The jock in front of him gives him a little wink and waves it over his head. He coos, "Look…Artie has a little diary…" The glares of the young Point Man aren't taken seriously at this age. He's a freshman in high school. A string bean. Teacher's pet. Although, he suspects that's why the football buffs target him. They all think Ms. Blake is hot and she pays special attention to him because he's a straight A, well-mannered student. He's still growing like a weed and he thinks sardonically that soon he will outgrow them all and they'll be sorry. "How old are you ten? What's with the teenage mutant turtles on the front?" He refuses to give them the satisfaction of lunging for the notebook and begging. Only when the leader of the pack starts pilfering through it, does he flinch and second guess his plan of action. "Aww…what's this? A sweater vest wish list? Or a description of your crushes on the football team?" The quarterback chuckles with his cronies and then holds the book so Arthur can see girly, cursive writing. He freezes in his spot and hopes to heaven his voice won't crack when he steels, "That is my mother's page. Give the book back." Sean—though his name doesn't deserve being mentioned slaps his free hand to his heart, "His _mommy's _page." The skinnier black kid grabs the book and reads in a baby squeak, "Dear Arthur, I'm so proud of the type of boy you're becoming. Gentle, caring, kind, respectful of women—" the kid snickers "What? A sissy?" then continues—"Sometimes I reflect that you are the only good thing in my life and that pulls me through the rough times…" The ginger behind him grabs the book from over his shoulders and boos. The page is ripped out of the journal and Arthur watches with a combination of horror and rage as they cackle and rip the paper into shreds. His temper gets to him before his logic does and he lets out a guttural grunt and almost breaks his hand punching the red head in the face. Blood goes everywhere. The one boy cowers like a scared puppy, cradles his nose and scuttles to the nurse's office. The other two guys beat the crap out of him and then stick his head in the toilet for a round of high school waterboarding—eloquently called swirlies. The whole time the water is rushing up his nose, mixing with the blood and choking him, Arthur vows that one day—he will be the one in control. They'll be afraid to fight back. Them, in their holey, faded jeans and dirt stained sneakers. People of their kind were beneath him.  
xxxxxx_

Arthur limped onto the medical floor. The Doctors had looked him over and there were no broken or sprained bones. All his injuries were minor and would take care of themselves. They popped his shoulder back into socket; his pulled leg muscle would be fine with ice and an inflammatory, his eyebrow had one biodegradable stitch in it and he could always wash his clothes. "How is she?" He asked the nurse that'd come in to take her vitals and was walking out as he was coming in, "Lucky she had doctors in the same building…She's doing great. We believe the pudding had harmful powder inserted in it but we've pumped her stomach and are fairly certain we've gotten it out of her system."

He wouldn't be Arthur if he didn't question the ambiguity, "Fairly?"

It seemed no problem to the nurse, just standard procedure, "If there's any left it's not enough to be damaging. We just need to keep her overnight and check her urine in the morning." She smiled one last time and moved out of the way. Yusuf had been waiting in the open area to review the results (they said they would bring him a copy) so when Cobb guided Arthur through the medical wing, he stopped off to talk to Yusuf to give him some privacy if he wanted it.

Ah, but privacy was no matter when Eames was in a room…He occupied the only seat and he and Ariadne were looking over a caricature she'd just drawn for him. The Point was worried Ariadne would be upset with him for not going with her. It's not like he aspired to but when it came down to it: He trusted leaving her in his friends' care. They would take care of her, they would demand what she needed, they would be as urgent as he would be. He _wasn't_ confident in their ability to take down Jacob (or get rid of a bomb in record time, though that hadn't been a factor when he left her). Arthur was sure he could handle it. There was nothing he could do for her but pace and fret in the medical wing but he could crush the man who'd done it and keep him from trying again. He wasn't good at being in love. Every time she wanted him to leave her alone? He smothered her. And when she asked him to stay and be with her? He distanced himself and wrenched himself away. He justified it as they were just on separate wavelengths. All she could see was what she wanted and all he could see was what they needed. He'd always placed necessity over desire—even in his youth. His family didn't have much and they had to be frugal. His aunt needed a can of greens for supper more than he needed a candy bar, so he used his allowance money on that. His talents included baseball and French horn…do you think he pursued them as afterschool activities because he enjoyed them? No he spent his time on extra curriculars that would put him ahead, ones that he required for ivy leagues. Debate club, student government, newspaper, yearbook. It was just ingrained in him to be that way. He looked at the bigger picture; that being, he needed a fine education to acquire a lucrative job and pay his Aunt Eleanor back for all her hard work in taking him in and raising him.

When she set her eyes on him there was no offense. Ariadne's smile was small but only because she was tired, "I'm glad you didn't explode."

"Me too." He sat on the edge of her bed and countered. The nature was humorous but the sentiment serious, "I'm glad you didn't choke to death."

"Me too," smirked the girl, "Guess I'll be laying off of pudding for…ever."

Arthur nodded, "I would." Then added, "Is there anyone else you're suspicious about? I'll go ahead and drop kick them this instant to get it over with."

She feigned a cautious face and a conspiratory whisper, "Eames." The Forger protested and held his hands up in surrender, 'Excuse me…' Ariadne glared at him, "I'm pretty sure he's the reason the kitchen ran out of my kiwi. But it can wait a couple instants 'cause your leg probably hurts." She shrugged.

Eames chided, "Leggo your ego Architect, the kiwi is for everyone."

Ariadne looked down her nose at him as she sat up and Arthur leveled a look while she spoke, "I'm _healing_, I get first priority, William. I'm the princess of this castle."

"The queen." Arthur interjected lightheartedly.

She nodded, "Here, here."

"Oh bother," The Forger rolled his eyes in good fun before winking and standing, "I'll come by in the morning, milady," and with a kiss on her head like a loving big brother he was out.

As if trying to fill the space with words to crowd out the awkwardness, Arthur asked if he could see the drawing. Ariadne obliged and held her book to the side to show him. It was a classic caricature: humongous head (which she pointed out was fitting anyway because Eames could be so full of himself) and tiny body. The Eames in her cartoon wore his signature khaki pant suit, bright pink button up and favorite brown loafers. In lieu of his devilish grin she decided to exaggerate his already full lips and have him model pouting, with two eyebrows in the air and his hands doing low grabby motions. In the corner of the page, she had running legs of one of the Asian nurses he'd been flirting with. He had two thought clouds trailing from his combed back head. One saying 'Dirty things' and another saying 'Dumb jokes.' Arthur laughed at the drawing, "You captured his likeness perfectly." She allowed a self-satisfied smile, "Right?" while she flipped the pages to close the book. He saw a flash of black hair and ears and couldn't help but question, "Was that me?" Ariadne grimaced, "Oh…" Slowly, she picked through the paper back to the page. It was another caricature but sloppily done. The Arthur in the picture wore a suit from the Victorian era complete with a cummerbund. His face was contorted into some angry scowl, his ears were bigger than his head and he had two speech bubbles. One with ' #&!% &' and one with 'Eames is awesome.' Upon seeing the real Arthur's frown at the image, she clarified, "Eames wanted to draw one…that's not how people see you, I promise."  
xxxxxx

_Arthur blankly stares at his tv. It's on mute and reruns of The Brady Bunch are flashing before his eyes. It's that time of night where he has to numb himself. His blanket is tucked on his sides and pulled up to his neck, his worn out stuffed turtle is wrapped in his arms for solace and his hands are pressing over his ears. He briefly glances at the poster by his window of cartoon turtles with bulky muscles, squinty eyes and nunchuks. He wishes he were a ninja so he could fight crime and keep his dad from hitting his mom when he came home from work at night. Outside his closed bedroom door he hears their fighting and screaming. His dad's loud, raspy slurring and his mom's petrified, pleading yells. He's tried to go out and help her before but she only cries and rushes him back to his room. If she knows he's awake while it's happening she locks his door, turns the tv up so he can't hear and takes the remote so he can't change that. It did hurt like nothing ever had when his dad whipped him with his belt those times or when he backhanded him the others. And it really scared him when he got that look in his eyes, and when he threw lamps and broke dishes…but what his mom didn't realize was that while the pain and fear was real, he didn't feel it for himself. He felt it for her. Little Arthur tries not to think on that. He pulls one of his school notebooks from under his pillow and reads a note his mom wrote for him a week ago when he left his backpack at home one day rushing to get on the bus. Since she wrote it, he figured out that when he reads it, he tends not to hear what's going on past his bedroom door and before he knows it, it's over. Arthur figures tomorrow will be another one of those days. The ones where he skips school and takes care of his momma's wounds. Brings her icepacks or wipes off some blood, does his best to make some grilled cheese, or soup or cereal for her to eat. Try to help her get dinner ready for his father so he won't get upset when he comes home to an empty kitchen. And pretends that nothing is wrong. That everything is normal. _

_But his thoughts are interrupted when he hears his father screech his name across the house, past the walls, under his door, and through the cracks between his fingers over his ears. He knows what that means. Arthur bolts upright and stuffs the notebook back into his pillow case, stands up and looks around his room frantically for his baseball bat. He'd been psyching himself up and planning for this moment when it came again. If his dad came in to pummel him again or beat his mom in front of him again he was going to whack him with the bat. He doesn't find it in time. He's bent over, rummaging through his Tupperware bin of toys and crap when his door swings open. He twists, drops to sit and pushes his back against the wall. It's not his dad though, it's his momma. He would feel relieved if not for all the blood and scrapes. She looks worse than normal. His mother hurries across the room to him. Arthur doesn't understand when she barely returns his hug. He sees the light of the tv shut off into black on the wall. She pulls away from him and pulls at his sheets. "Mom. Why are you making my bed? It's night time." She hushes him, looks at the door, frenzied and ushers him under his bed. "Momma. Mom, what's happening." She whispers, "Be very quiet, Arthur. I've told him you're at a friend's house. He's out of control tonight." She disappears for a second and then his turtle is pushed under the bed with him. The woman instructs, "Stay here until he's gone to work. You understand? And call Aunt Eleanor in the morning to come get you." "Why can't you?" He begins to panic. "I love you, Arthur." She smiles and kisses his ten year old hand and while he's at the age that he should be too cool for it he relishes it. "Mom?" "Shhhhh." Her face is gone. Arthur only sees her feet pacing around his room, making it look like he hasn't been home all day (kicking his backpack and homework into the closet). His dad starts yelling for both of them and menacing stomps start making their way up the stairs. "Mom. Momma." She's not answering…"Mommy!" Arthur is petrified by this behavior, he's never seen it before. Before she soundlessly closes the door she reminds him, "You're not here, baby." He's afraid there won't be a chance to say it again so he squeaks, "I love you too…" and then everything is silent save for the pounding in his ears. _

_Arthur's palms fly right back to his head and he buries his face in his turtle when his mother screams bloody murder. It's louder than it's ever been because they're just outside his door. His father's cursing and calling her a slut and there are thumps against his walls he swears will knock them down. His mother's pleading, 'Please Harrison…please, I'm sorry…" but it's weak like her voice isn't working anymore. Arthur starts to crawl out, he's daring himself to find the bat and go out there and take control of the situation. To save his mother like she's saved him so many times when his door creaks open again. His hand slides back under…he scoots back. He sees his mother's form lying in the hallway, crying, heaving to breathe. His father's banged up sneakers stagger into his room. Arthur hears the sheets ripped off his bed, the closet door opened, his clothes thrown on the ground while his father looks for him. He smells the liquor on him. Sees the worn ends of his faded jeans, imagines the stained wife beater, the greasy touseled hair, the leathery scowl. Then with a huff he's gone. Arthur keeps his eyes and ears open all night until he hears the sounds of his father leaving. Then he creeps into the hallway and finds his beloved mother beaten to death on the ground. He calls the police, the ambulance and his Aunt Eleanore as requested who promptly comes to take him away. There's very little Arthur takes with him to Virginia: His turtle, the notebook, the vow to take control of the next situation that threatens to take a loved one from him. He's sure to leave the house in his best pair of slacks and the polished, sleek, dress shoes in the back of his closet. He combs his hair back, rifles on a red polo crumpled in the back of his drawer. The young Point Man practically feels the smoothing of his hair and the proud melody of her voice, "I love it when you dress nice, Arthur. You look like a little gentleman." She said so the few occasions he dressed that way for church, or some thanksgivings, his baseball team's banquet. It's how he would dress for her funeral. _

_He leaves his jeans and worn out sneakers in a pile on his bed. They're more his old man's style anyways.  
xxxxxx_

The book was closed sheepishly and the picture rolled off his shoulders; Arthur was used to that kind of behavior from Eames. He waited until she sat it aside and started picking at her nails to change the subject to something more solemn. "Now don't bite my head off," at this Ariadne looked up amused, "This is merely a question." Ariadne looked to the door (it was closed, the gesture was more out of habit) and back at him. "Do you still want to go through with this? With integrating yourself into the confrontation?" Ariadne honored his request in not taking offense at the inquiry. She nodded. Definite. He felt the need to add a follow up, "Even after the attempt to kill you today?"

The Architect didn't miss a beat, "They want me back. If Wolffe wanted me dead, he would do it himself and make sure I felt it." The effect of that so plainly stated (and so believable a theory) caused Arthur's jaw to set itself more firmly. "If he'd killed me of his own volition, Wolffe would have gutted him…he was trying to put you or Eames out of commission. And when he heard the Code Purple for me, I think he put it together and panicked so he used that bomb as a last resort."

It made sense. More sense that Arthur wanted to admit. The Point made sure that he didn't sound condescending or distrustful but conversational (even a scrap of understanding) when he brought up the point, "So since they're main focus is only to take you back, you're comfortable with walking purposefully back into their clutches." Being Arthur—though he is not credited enough for his daily use of it—he could not help but let sarcasm slip in. If Ariadne noticed it, she overlooked it. She stared intently at the wall ahead, inhaled deeply. The Point's previous thoughts and calculated replies faded into awareness of her conduct. The pad of his thumb rose to hover above the nurse call button in case. "Down there, in their hideout, there are these universal cards like room keys for hotel rooms. Only the Blacks—the founders but we call them the Blacks because of their hoods—have access to them. And there is this function where you can lock something—or one—in or out of any room or corridor and without the same key to open it, you're trapped. It's called 'locking on red'." It was interesting information she had not yet shared with the rest of team and it could be useful in the infiltration so he made a mental note to do some looking into that. It seemed much like the badge process where they were currently staying and in retrospect, Arthur began to understand why it reminded her of the Woods and why she was apprehensive about the process when they arrived. Then, again, all of his brainwaves paused in their tracks to pay full attention to her and her hand blindly grabbing her totem off the tray table at her bedside and clutching it to her stomach. "I was asleep. The first time. I barely slept on the job so I made up for it for weeks after…He just showed up in my box out of nowhere and started joking with me, touching me—" Ariadne shifted uncomfortably in the bed, "I slapped him hard and scrambled across the room and I was shaking and trying to punch my code in to get out and then he swiped his card. I punched my code over and over and it only beeped at me. And he only laughed. And I realized that there was nothing I could do…it was out of my control. It was going to happen. You said never to show fear…so I fought back anyway." Arthur leaned his elbows forward on his knees and swallowed hard. "Of course he overpowered me. But you also taught me to never look. So I closed my eyes and counted backwards from one hundred." Her eyes squeezed tight as she relayed, her fist even tighter. Yes, Arthur remembered the conversation they had where he told her all the things to do if she found herself in a bad situation. He remembered making her repeat them for memory. He debated laying a hand on hers or her shoulder for comfort when she started rocking (albeit subtly) and mouthing things to herself but decided against it in case contact triggered something worse. Instead, Arthur patiently waited and traced the circles her thumb rubbed over the top of her fist with his eyes until she spoke again. Ariadne's eyes fluttered open—back to the wall—"It was over when I got to nine." The rocking stopped. "You know what he said before he left?" He didn't think he was supposed to interrupt the silence that followed. Maybe he was supposed to guess…because she looked at him, finally. In one instant, she looked exhausted. Like recalling it physically drained her which Arthur didn't doubt. The Point Man opened his mouth—he didn't have a clue but felt that her expectant eyes needed an answer. Any answer. Even if that answer was, 'God, I'm so sorry, Ariadne. I'm glad you're here now, I love you…' as unorganized, irrelevant and frantic as it may have sounded. But the girl beat him to it, "'I can see it's going to be fun to break your spirit.'" A direct quote. The concept dried out his throat and threatened to suck color from the world. Breaking Ariadne's spirit was the very thing Arthur swore not to do. He even gave her up to avoid coming close.

Ariadne's gaze dropped to her hand. Willed it to release her bishop and let the totem lay against the side of her leg. Her hands must have been sweaty because she wiped them on the blanket. As her gaze wandered back to the spot on the wall that clearly gave her courage, her right hand folded into her left on her lap. "Up until an hour ago I believed he'd done it. I was gaining weight back, exercising, getting really good at wearing a smile like a mask and acting like myself but...not feeling it." Arthur tilted his head and furrowed his eyebrows because she'd been going through psychotherapy. And they'd said she was improving. That she was truly coming to terms with it and beginning to emotionally heal… "I would stare at the cherry blossoms and the coy ponds and try to feel something. Anything Ariadne. Anything connected to the way things were before all of this and always came up wanting." The Point sighed…yeah, he'd found her that way on many afternoon visits. He would sit with her and marvel at the view. He tried to use it as a conversation piece while she was trying to find herself. It took Arthur by surprise when her focus suddenly shifted back to him and her big, doe-like eyes confessed, "I didn't expect you to agree. I asked to be involved because I knew that's what the old me would do. And I thought we'd fight and I'd get mad and feel like myself when I yelled back about being able to take care of myself—and then you said yes. Without a second thought. Even after the disaster my trial dream had been and our fight about me wanting to sacrifice myself to end things…you still supported my choice to go if I wanted… I had the choice. You gave me the choice. I feel _in control_ of myself and my future again. It empowers me. And I know I said Ariadne wasn't here…but slowly, I've been feeling myself pour back into my veins tonight." This is when her sad visage perked back up a hair. It made Arthur's mood lighten as well. "I _have _to go back, Arthur. I want him to see that he _didn't_ break me. That he could _never_ break me." Ariadne was definitely back alright. That was her spellbinding conviction, determination and grit talking back to him.

"He will," the Point promised, "I'll make sure that's the last thing he sees before I annihilate him and his brotherhood of scoundrels." In case, he needed more proof the Architect was recuperating he was overwhelmed with the contagion of her fortitude.  
xxxxxx

_Arthur shakes his head as Cobb power walks to him. "I know you're pissed. Save it." _

"_I don't want one of us to drop into limbo because of _her."

_Now, it's Dom's turn to shake his head. If he thinks the hand on Arthur's shoulder is pacifying him, he needs to think again. "I don't know the fine details of the mazes. Mal shouldn't be a problem." The Point shakes off the hand and hisses, "I'm not talking about Mal. I'm talking about the Architect. You can't just bring her into the dream like this. It's_ _too last minute, Cobb." _

_The extractor matches the set of his jaw to the Point's and they both separately but simultaneously glimpse at the girl in the corner. She's buzzing around her desk, shoving things into her bag, shrugging on her coat. Dominic grates on Arthur's nerves when he shrugs, "I trust she can handle it. We have an agreement, Art. It's done." The Extractor turns to stalk away from him and pack up the PASIV but Arthur marches behind. "The kid doesn't even know how to shoot a gun. She's never been on an extraction job before…we already have Saito to babysit, we don't need another tourist. Every minute organism has to go according to plan to pull this off and randomly dragging her into this is going to screw us all up." _

_Cobb whips around, "I've got her under control."_

"_Yeah. Because you have Mal under control…" He's rounding up the vials of Somnacin sitting around and helping the Extractor set them back into the briefcase. Dom slams the PASIV shut and directs a glare at him. "She's more than capable, you've said so yourself."_

_Arthur has to backtrack there. Because his friend is right; he's admitted on numerous occasions that Ariadne was born for dream work…that she could give them all a run for their money if she tried. He'd actually suggested a training exercise with some rogue projections to see her in action and then bragged about her knack for it to the other men over lunch one day. Regrettably, he has to acknowledge that, "Yes…but look. You hired me to be the Point Man and line all of our ducks in a row. I've tweaked and slaved and planned everything correspondently to make sure we have complete control of the situation." And the pot of water beneath Arthur's soapbox begins to boil when Dom raises his eyebrows at him and gives him the 'and?' look. He sputters, "She is a variant I can't control." _

"_You can't control any of the team members. So what is the real deal here?" The Blonde folds his arms across his chest and leans against the table. Arthur deadpans, "That's the deal." Why on earth Cobb breaks out into a fit of chuckles is lost on him. "You're oblivious." The Point sneers back, "To what?" And here the Extractor inserts a secretive smirk in the girl's direction and grins, "You have a soft spot for Ariadne."_

"_Are you shitting me?" Arthur scoffs, "You're just as bad as Eames."_

_Cobb shrugs but that look that he knows better than Arthur is still plastered on his face, "It's your nature to deny it. So if you want to, that's fine." He sneaks another glance at Ariadne whose now across the warehouse, helping Yusuf bottle up his chemicals and pack them away into crates. "But you do." Blue eyes slide to Arthur's brown ones, "And what I think really fans the fire under your ass about this isn't that you can't control _her…_it's that you can't control what may happen to her—what my subconscious may do to her—because let's face it, Arthur, you don't trust me."_

_The Point is quick to correct, "I do trust you. I wouldn't be here if I didn't."_

"_Well it'd be nice if you started showing it." Cobb grabs the PASIV, slings his jacket over the crook in his elbow and makes his way over to the whiteboard to clean it off. "And give Ariadne some damn credit."  
xxxxxx_

She did smile at him. Close-lipped and sweet for the good intentions she knew he meant by it. But aimed a somber, pointed look at him next, "You're not going to go in and massacre them, right?"

Arthur averted his eyes from her as he answered. Mostly because he knew she wouldn't like his answer, if she caught the way he skirted around her actual question. "The others have been instructed to take all cooperative Hoods into custody."

"So _they _won't but will _you?_"

The Point's head bowed lower away from her, "They deserve it."

The sigh that escapes her is unmistakable. It's hidden from her view but Arthur scrunches his face at it. "I think enough people have died because of or for me. Trying to keep me, trying to rescue me, trying to get me back, trying to protect me—it's like all anyone does to try and solve a problem is killing."

"It's different. _They've_ killed_ innocent_ people."

"Some of the Hoods are innocents too."

Then it was Arthur's sigh that was unmistakable. After he realized he wasn't getting anywhere by shying away from meeting her eyes (it only confirmed he knew she was right but was stubbornly ignoring it), he returned her gaze, "Could we please not examine the grey morality in the situation."

"Two of them actually snuck me out at risk of their own lives. One of them died as a result. You wouldn't be looking at me right now if not for them. If they were both still alive would you go in and snap their necks as thanks?"

He lamented, "No."

"I was a Hood. If you didn't know me would you have gone in and killed _me?" _Arthur's jaw ground down. She had a point. "Saito and the boys are going in to take the organization down. What are you going in for? Vengeance?" Still, he kept tightlipped. "Arthur." She demanded of him.

"You're not going to like my answer so why give it? We've been through a lot today; I don't want to add an argument to the list."

Ariadne pursed her lips, "We're not going to argue. I just want to know what's in your head."  
xxxxxx

_Bullets are raining through the air; Arthur's never been more scared in his life. Then again, Arthur's never been chased through the busy streets of Prague with guns and trained killers on his tail. It's only his second extraction and he's still learning the ropes. That's partly the reason he screwed up on the research. Number one: he'd mixed up the addresses of the brothers they'd targeted as their mark. It mattered because one lived directly on the beach and one somewhere on the hills of the coast but it also could've been overlooked because both dreamscapes had the beachy feel and dreams seem real enough while we're in them. But—and here's number two—he didn't think it necessary to research which wood Hector Ludwich's dining room table was made out of. If you're curious the answer is mahogany. They caught on quick. Their subconscious' had been militarized. One second he's keeping lookout for Cobb while he cracks the safe and the next he's waking up in their office building and meeting eyes with his ROTC buddy, Peter. Peter warns, "Something was off about the room…they figured it out!" "What?" Arthur is astonished, frozen in spot by fear. He'd heard of it happening but he didn't think it'd ever happen to him. Hello catastrophe. Cobb grabs him by the arm, the PASIV clutched in his other and pulls him out of the room and through the hall to the stairwells. "Split up. We'll meet at the airport. Lose your tails!" _

_Arthur doesn't stop to think about it. He doesn't have the time really. He scrambles down the stairs and thrusts himself out into the busy streets. That leaves him, huffing, puffing, a bruise on his hip and a surface cut along his eyebrow in an alleyway three hours of running and dodging later. His gun is drawn and he waits for a businessman to lock his car and go inside his office building. Once he's out of sight, Arthur sprints into the street, smashes the window out and gets in. It takes him six minutes to hotwire the car. It just revs up as men in suits pour into the streets. He slams his foot against the gas pedal just in time to hit one of them and make the green light. Arthur looks into his rearview mirror as Peter bursts into view behind him and sprints to catch up with the car. He falters. Does he stop? He can't stop. Does he slow down? They're on his butt, the back window has just been blown out and he has to stick his gun out the window and shoot some down that are keeping up at his sides. He makes brief eye contact with his friend before Peter is overpowered and he sees the jarring of his body eight, nine times. Soldiers are taught never to leave a man behind and yet that's what he's been forced to do. The image settles into his mind. He's furious with himself. Mostly because he knows the room wasn't at fault because of Peter's execution of the scape but the material Arthur had given him to design it with. He'd been lackadaisical with the information and now one of his closest friends resembled a cheese grater. Arthur learned quickly that control of every dreamshare job was ultimately in the Point Man's hands. His performance in the field directly reflected how prepared his team was. Their safety, sanity and success depended on his ability to be thorough and strict. One can't always be in control of every circumstance…but when it is your job to be in control…you better be damn good at calculating and micro-managing every aspect.  
xxxxxx_

The Architect realized why he would not look at her once he broke down and did. There was something dark in his eyes. Darker than sadness and hotter than rage. Arthur knew she wouldn't want to see that in him. "They can't think I'd let them get away with what they did to you. I don't know why _you _would even think I'd let them." She scooted further from him on the bed, only to pat the spot next to her. The Point hesitated, not sure whether he was taking the correct meaning from the gesture and reluctant to do something that might alarm or discomfort her. Ultimately, he moved over and situated himself on the mattress. It was hard to feel ire and resentment when he was in close quarters with the Architect and everything about her demeanor was trying to calm him down. Ariadne was good for him: a truth that kept cementing itself.

"Because I know you're better than them." In an instant he went from rightfully, fervently desiring to behead them to feeling guilty and humbled. A little ashamed to look her back in the eyes. "Logically, if this were any other job you would only kill in self-defense. Wolffe…_he_ would go in and shoot up the place without a split second of remorse. You're his complete opposite. And for your sake—if not for mine—I'm asking you to stay that way." He had feigned interest in the foot of the bed during her spiel and took to examining his large, scuffed up Italian loafers next to her diminutive bare feet (some scarred up scrapes tried to camouflage themselves along the top). Arthur chanced a glance up from them and got trampled with more contrition for his plans, "Don't kill any more people for me."

This time it was she who broke the connection in favor of studying their feet. He'd had that expression on his face again. The one that screamed: 'I know what I'm doing. I know what's best for you. I understand how you feel but this has to and will be done anyway. I am in control of this situation and I will handle it as I see fit.' So, "I will spare as many lives as I can," came as an abrupt shock. Ariadne's head shot back to him in amazement, completely astounded he'd backed down for her wishes. Then her eyes narrowed because he could say that he would try but would she ever find out if he hadn't? "I give you my word."

"Thank you," she mewled while pulling him into a hug. Long after she released him from her hold (not just the one her arms locked him in but her eyes) and turned on the tv to flip through channels, Arthur felt the burning sting she'd left on his cheek as a kiss of gratitude.  
xxxxxx

Ariadne was able to coax him into leaving her, grabbing a midnight snack (his dinner) and heading back to his room for well-deserved rest. He obliged simply because it was her suggestion. He ran back into Cobb on his way from the cafeteria floor up to his room. Arthur stepped into the contraption with a box of honey chicken and pears. Cobb had gone for some tea to wind him down. He noticed the food in Arthur's hands and decided to use it to make conversation, "Finally getting to eat?" Cobb ribbed, "I heard the honey chicken is beyond belief."

Arthur politely replied, "Yeah. Ariadne said I should try it."

He pressed the necessary buttons, "You get to talk to her about our concerns? We talked to the staff, by the way, and no one leaked any intel to Jesse or Jacob or whoever he was while he was here." The metal slid closed, "They were waiting for the briefing. I guess it's a good thing he blew up before we had that meeting tomorrow."

Satisfied with that tidbit of news, Arthur bobbled his head before addressing the question. "Yeah_ and_ she's adamant about doing it so I want to get a squad together to keep an eye on her while we're inside."

"You know I'm proud of you." Cobb took a sip from the thermos in his hand. When Arthur wrinkled his eyebrows he explicated, "For letting go of the reins. Letting her decide and do for herself. I know it's hard for you but I also know it makes her extremely happy to have your unwavering support." The elevator came to a halt. Arthur gestured for Dom to step out first and then followed him round the corner to their hallway. The Point easily slipped his badge out of his jacket pocket while Cobb fished for his out of his pants while they strode. Arthur rather reservedly uttered, "I want her to be happy. It's tough but I'll get over it."

They stood at their doors looking back at each other. Cobb swiped his badge and opened his door first, "You know…it's possible for things to work out without you obsessing over the 'ifs'." The other man slid his badge and stepped halfway in his room as well, "Yeah? I'd like you to find one time I couldn't control a situation and the outcome turned out beneficial…"

Cobb smirked, "When you fell in love with our Architect."  
xxxxxx

**Just five more chapters guise. Whose ready to go back to the Woods?  
NEXT CHAPTER: The operation commences and your favorite two characters just may kiss…review for multiple kisses :) **


	21. Up or Up On

Welp, I suppose erryone didn't like the last chapter very much, hahaha. One of my irl friends has been reading it and giving me feedback and she said when it got to the part that Ariadne 'blew up on the table' she quit reading and was super mad at me. Lol. Then I explained that if she kept going she would've seen that it was Arthur's imagination. So if that happened to you…sorry I like to freak people out…but **Ariadne is alive.**

Also, I thought more peeps would enjoy the slight Arthur backstory. Oh well.

Thanks to: _Lauraa-x _your reviews are always funny. In a good way. Yay. Thanks so much! and _Birdy21: _So glad someone did! YAYYY!

**Chapter 21: Up or Up On. **

Arthur sat in the bed reading through one of his favorite books—Catcher in the Rye—again. All the lights besides the lamps on either side of the bed were off but his eyes were used to squinting in half darkness. His leg was comfortably crossed over his other as he flipped the page before a figure padded into the bedroom. He looked up and grinned, "There's my gorgeous girl. Working hard?" Ariadne had been holed up in her office, designing and whatever else since the time he got back from his work. He cooked dinner for them but she took her plate into her private space and ate there. The Architect had of course cared for the other residents as needed but as usual, kept busy and to herself. In plain view of Arthur, her sweater was pulled over her head and tossed in a corner and replaced by a t-shirt. He watched appreciatively (even putting his book down on the nightstand) while she stepped out of her jeans and into her track shorts. At long last, she climbed onto the bed. The Point Man attacked her neck with sweet wet kisses and planted a firm on her cheek, "Mmm, you taste good."

Ariadne didn't giggle like she used to when he would say that. And she definitely didn't acknowledge his affections. Instead she panned, "Eames called."

The man's joyful mood sobered up, "Oh?"

"His team is in a bind. Their architect quit halfway through and they need someone," explained the girl, first, then she looked at Arthur indifferently for his reaction. By 'someone' both parties understood she meant herself.

Arthur attempted to be diplomatic. He knew the second he closed off his mind she would get angry and defensive. So he sat Indian style and looked at her intently, ready to discuss it, "You tell him we'd talk about it?"

"I told him yes." Ariadne corrected in a tone that meant she didn't need his approval, nor did she seek it. "My bag is already packed," was the nail in the coffin.

The Point Man blinked. These were decisions they needed to hash out together. There was so much more involved now when one of them picked up and left. Perhaps, he was getting ahead of himself. Maybe she would only be gone a few days, in which case he would drop it. And that would put him in good graces. Or better than the graces he was currently in, "How long is it?"

The woman hadn't batted an eye when she stated, "Three months."

"Three m—," Arthur's eyes widened and his mind raced like crazy. Her leaving for three months was impossible…that would create so much havoc. The man tried to reason with her, "Baby, the kids can't even spend one whole night at your parents without you. And you're going to up and leave them for _three months_?"

Ariadne sighed, "Three months, Arthur, not a lifetime."

"That's a lifetime to them." He pointed out rather upset. Not for his own sake but for the kids. The both of them were mama's babies. They were still young and had separation anxiety, especially the youngest. Every other night, one or both of them begged to sleep with Arthur and Ariadne. When Ariadne had to go on a weekend seminar trip, the two were hysterical. They wanted to call her every couple hours, they clung to Arthur like a lifeline and he even had to give the youngest one of their mother's shirts to ball up and sleep with like a teddy bear just to feel close. And on top of all of that, it had been a weekend so Arthur was able to coddle them and make up for Ariadne's absence. But three months? "And I work. I can't take off from the firm and turn down all those clients to watch them all day." He couldn't be there with them (he wasn't able to or he would gladly) all day, all week, for that long. He wasn't his own boss anymore. So to the children it would feel like three months without both Mommy and Daddy. He would only be able to wake them up in the morning, tuck them in at night, and do some major daddy bonding time Saturdays and Sundays.

"Easton's in kindergarten." Ariadne pointed out. Their little boy recently turned five and was able to start his first year at school. Their son would be gone from eight to two, anyway. "And we moved back near my family for a reason, right? Any of them can watch Allivia and pick up Easton."

The Point Man squinted his eyes at her. Was she really suggesting they ask her parents and aunts and uncles and cousins to step in as mother's and father's for them for THREE months? That was too much. How would they explain it? And how was she not as affected as he was thinking about how miserable the children would be without her? "Do you hear yourself?"

Groaning, she got back out of bed, "It's the opportunity to dream again. You know how much I miss it."

Five years. They'd made it five years without giving into the urge. They could keep going…Arthur sympathized with her while she paced the room. Good, he detected some guilt and second thoughts about her hasty decision. The mother was undoubtedly thinking of her young but trying to walk it off. "I miss it too….but you and Easton and Alli are worth it. You three are more than enough for me."

"But it's not enough for _me_!" The truth came out when she halted and spun to face him. Face flushed, hands flexed, "I'm twenty seven years old and all I've done is carry, bear and chase two babies for you."

Two beautiful babies. Two beautiful, walking, smiling persons of evidence that they loved each other. He wasn't questioning if she regretted them, really. It was more of a retort because he felt that was a dig at him, "Are you saying you wish they weren't born?"

"No, I love them." Ariadne didn't hesitate in her firm declaration. Nor waver when she added, "I don't regret _them._" Her eyes were hard and he sensed hurt brewing and fixing to be sent his way.

"What does that mean?" Arthur bit, threw the covers off and stalked from the bed to her, "You regret _me_? You regret being my wife?!"

"More than anything." Ariadne spat. "I only married you because I was still vulnerable and scared and I thought I needed protection. But I don't need protection anymore!" It wasn't the truth but a life full of dreams she hadn't seen come to fruition and pent up unhappiness was surfacing.

Cut deeply by his wife's heated shouts, he shouted back, "You are a cold-hearted bitch, you know that? After everything I've donefor you?! Everything I've put myself through _for you!_" How dare she be so ungrateful? How dare she act like the only reason they were together was because she was pitiful and he was simply there at the right time? They were together because they were the love of each other's life. Because he put her first above everything.

"Everything you've done for me?" Ariadne scoffed at him, viciously, "You didn't rescue me from the Woods. You didn't even find me. Someone else did. All _you_ did was collect and hover. And _you _didn't nurse me back to health, _you _didn't help me build back my strength and stamina, and _you _definitely didn't sit through psychotherapy with me. Yusuf, Saito's doctors and Yossu and Mako did that! All you did was breathe down my neck, put together your little files and tell people how to do what they already knew how to do." The Architect was seething. The Point Man shook his head, disbelieving everything falling from her mouth. He'd risked life and limb and suffered a great amount of emotional trauma for her during the time of the Hoods. He almost yelled something just as spiteful back but her fury was faster than his, "You tricked me into giving up everything I ever wanted—everything I ever worked for—to suffer through five years of a miserable marriage!"

Arthur sneered as he towered over her, "I've given you everything you've ever asked for," pointed his finger emphatically at her, "I've leapt at your call, bent heaven and earth to grant your every wish!"

"My _wish _was to be an Architect!" Alight with fire, her eyes flew over him. Her hands up in the air.

"You are one!" Revised the Point Man for her.

The once sweetened caramel orbs turned into slits. Ariadne jutted her hip to the side and placed her hands there while proudly (sarcastically) stating, "I design portables for schools and remodel buildings into space for Popeye's Chicken." She dropped the act and her hands, "From home! I want adventure!"

Arthur laughed albeit humorlessly, "Well I'm sorry but you're a mother now! You can't trot the globe, shoot people and screw around anymore!"

"Bet that was your plan all along! That's why I got knocked up so soon after our wedding, huh?! SO YOU COULD TRAP ME!"

Arthur's voice turned into its old stern businessman tone. His all knowing Point Man tone. Now, his disciplining fatherly tone. It was steel, "It may be hard to believe, Ariadne, but once upon a time, you loved me!"

"I NEVER LOVED YOU." The woman shoved her husband away from her, "I HATE YOU!" Those seven words were enough to drown the flames Arthur felt. All of a sudden, his iron shield was torn through and he cracked into a million tiny pieces. The next two words took those pieces and blasted each into another oblivion.

"Mommy? Daddy?"

The two parents froze upon hearing the raspy little voice. Ariadne flushed and she immediately quieted her demeanor prior to following the sound with her eyes. She didn't have to see him to know it was the little olive-skinned boy who spoke. His black hair was tussled and sticking up (always the same cowlick that she had to smooth down. Like the reason his father gelled his own hair so religiously). He looked troubled standing there in his dinosaur footie with red claw feet, a frown where his dimples were supposed to be and small eyebrows knitted amongst freckles. Easton held his baby sister's hand tightly in his. The two children were very close. Often, when one got up, they would go get the other up. Allivia was three years old and came up to Easton's sternum. Alli's light chestnut pigtails had wisps falling out from her rigorous sleep. Standing (more confused than anything) in a baby yellow and white daisies nightgown, she matched her brother's frown.

Ariadne let out a puff of air. At once the mean woman was gone and the nurturing, dulcet mommy was there. She gaited to kneel in front of the two, taking on of their wrists in each hand, "What are you two doing up?"

"You is screaming." Allivia nodded and then her large innocent eyes batted up to Arthur, "Where go mommy and daddy's inside voice? "

The Point Man melted, "No we're—" He casually strolled over to stand behind Ariadne, "we didn't realize how loud we were talking is all. We're sorry, baby."

Easton knew better. He was too intuitive for his own good (a trait of Ariadne's). His eyes slid from his dad's to his mom's sadly, "You were fighting again." The boy shared a look with his sister and then they both looked at Ariadne first, then Arthur and he complained, "We don't like it when you fight."

"I know…" Arthur closed his eyes, "I don't either."

The Architect cupped Easton's cheek and smiled, "I promise we'll stop right now, ok?" He nodded in response.

The small girl tackled Ariadne by throwing her arms around her neck, "I want sleep wiff you and Daddy." Ariadne looked over her shoulder at Arthur then back with an apologetic kiss on the baby's forehead, "Not tonight. How about Easton? Can you sleep with him?" Allivia gasped happily then hugged Easton's waist just as fervently while nodding.

With it all settled, Arthur longed for the night to be over. So he played the part of dad and ordered, "Ok let's get back to bed, then." He followed behind them; Easton gripped Ariadne's hand with both of his as they walked and held it to his chest and Alli was on Ariadne's hip, arms around and head in the crook of her mommy's neck. The man leant against the doorframe and watched them adoringly while his wife sat on the edge of the bed, tucked them in and handed them their stuffed animals. He would never tire of observing her while she mothered their babies. "Mommy?" Easton asked again, once they were all settled.

"Yes, Sweetie?" Lovingly, Ariadne's fingers ran through his hair.

"Do you really hate Daddy?" The husband and father tensed as he saw her tense. He heard her stammer and then sigh, "Well I—I love you two very much. And without your father, I wouldn't have you." Sometimes the question is answered by means of no answer. Arthur felt himself tear up at the implication that she actually meant what was said during their argument. "Kisses." Ariadne requested. The mother leant down and kissed each child on the cheek and waited for them to do the same. Her finger poked Allivia's nose, "Sweet dreams," and then Easton's, "and sleep tight."

"And don't let the projections bite!" Easton smugly added. Some dreamshare facts may have slipped through in parenting…They didn't know about shared dreaming itself. He didn't know the actual meaning, he just thought it was a phrase. Arthur waited until Ariadne passed him before stepping in and requesting kisses of his own. When he got back to their bedroom, Ariadne was zipping up her jeans. Already, she donned a new shirt and jacket and soon slung her duffel over her shoulder. "I was going to leave in the morning after I dropped Easton off at school but it'll be hell with Alli at my parents'. I'll just leave tonight."

The Point drug his feet on the carpet while following her to the front door. He couldn't help but chide after the scene they both witnessed where they were all over her, "Because them both waking up without you is so much better?"

"The more time you and I can have away from each other, the better." Ariadne said with melancholy and shrug. "And when I get back, I think we need to sit down and have a serious talk about our marriage—"

"Yes," concurred the man before he understood.

"—And consider our options because obviously it's not working."

How many times could oblivion be blown into more oblivion? "You mean consider divorce?"

"We'll talk when I come back." She didn't seem happy about it either. But then why were they doing this: fighting and not trying. Not communicating. Or getting counseling. Not battling to make it work. Did they subconsciously feel it was a lost cause? "_If_ you come back." He held the door open as she glided through it, "Eames is going to sweep you back into that world and you won't give a second thought to us." Ariadne spared him a long look that said she was sorry and then—

"Mommy?"

Ariadne's concerned eyes shot to the edge of the hallway and scolded, "Alli. I just put you back in bed."

"Mommy, where you going!?" Already, the toddler was in a panic at even the thought of mommy leaving for a second. She ran (nearly tripped. Arthur had his hands held out cautiously in case she fell) and hugged Ariadne's leg which prompted her to crouch down and coax, "Just to work for a while."

Alli demanded with a readjusted (and tighter) squeeze on the Architect's neck, "I come wiff you."

"No, baby," Ariadne's soft voice tried to pull her daughter off but ended up standing with Allivia piggybacking her front and whimpering. She had to stick to her guns, "you have to go sleep so you can get up and see mimi and papa in the morning."

"NO!" The little girl rasped. And Arthur looked to the hallway, afraid it would wake the other child. "I wanna come wiff _you_!" She begged and if was up to daddy, he'd pack her a little bag and take her along as well.

"Allivia, no baby, I'm sorry." The Architect rubbed circles on her back and she sobbed, "Mommy! Don't leave!"

"Shhh," Ariadne hushed her than gestured and ordered, "Arthur, take her."

Allivia had Arthur in the palm of her tiny baby hands. Even as he obliged and went to take her from her mother, it killed him to think of this sadness for another three months. He resorted close to Alli's tactics and pleaded, "Ariadne, just stay the night. She's gonna have a cow."

"She's gonna have one sooner or later anyway." The young mother grimaced but helped pry her child off (regretfully). She promised both of them—her husband and daughter—"I'll call you in the morning, ok?"

Allivia's arms outreached towards the Architect, "Noooooo! Mommy!" And when she realized mommy was moving she threw her head back and went upside down in Arthur's arms—starting a full on tantrum and causing her mother to halt in horror. Good thing Arthur was super strong and had sharp reflexes. He pulled her up and held her upright. Alli's face turned red and twisted into the most pitiful, heart wrenching face. She wept with hands stretching for Ariadne, "Mommy! Mommy! Mommy!"

Arthur's face twisted up too, moisture building, "You're breaking all of our hearts, Ariadne, just stay." He implored with a gruff desperation all his own, "Please. I'll make it worth your while."

"Mama?" The parents' eyes darted to the hallway again. Where a tired and alarmed Easton stood. Ariadne couldn't take another heart-hurting goodbye so she took hold of the strap of her duffle and stepped out the door. As it was hurriedly closing, the little boy began to sprint and called out of it, "Mommy, Where are you going?!" He got to the door several seconds after it closed and banged furiously on it, "Mommy! Mommy, come back!" He reached over his head, turned the knob and swung the door open.

Still hanging on to a writhing, hysterical Allivia, Arthur watched as their son scrambled down the steps of the porch and down the driveway towards where Ariadne was throwing her bag in the car. He reprimanded him, "Easton!"

Hearing his name, his mommy turned around with surprised large eyes and commanded "Easton get back in the house." She struggled to open the driver door without hitting him with it but Easton latched onto her waist. (This was how it was every time Ariadne had a short weekend business trip. Hell, even when she went to the grocery store without them.) "Please, take me with you!"

"Easton Ford Nolan," Ariadne grabbed his chin, "get back in that house."

"But momm—" He cried. The Point Man had made his way down and scooped up the little boy with his other arm right after Ariadne sternly demanded, "Now." He pulled him back up the driveway and the stairs and into the house. "No! Daddy please! I want mommy!" Tears streamed down his face as he was dragged. (Not literally.) Once inside, he put the children down and deadbolted the top (they couldn't reach). "Daddy, no! No! I want mommy!" Wailing and weeping and bawling for Ariadne, the two children stood at the window with hands and red, wet noses pressed against the glass.

Arthur sat on the couch, buried his head in his hands and allowed himself to break down into tears too.

Xxxxxx

Arthur's eyes fluttered open.

While thankful that it was only a dream…the lingering feeling of despair and nausea ate at him. It was here. The night before the day of reckoning. The drills had been drilled, the weapons loaded, the plan reviewed countless times over. Each person involved knew the plan inside out, backwards, and in their sleep. They'd packed up the necessities and flew out of Japan early, early that morning and landed in Canada around eleven. From there they were taking the overnight train to Maine.

It was suspected that the loud rush of the wheels, the sporadic whistles and continuous bumping and rocking of the train would bother the Architect but it quite calmed her. Probably because it matched the different feelings and thoughts and heart palpitations coursing through her and that took her mind off what she was about to do. Ariadne rested flat on her back. The shade on her window was up so the moonlight could shine through when there weren't trees in the way which there mostly were but she entertained herself with the sudden transitions of shadow and light. She'd started trying to lull herself to sleep with James and Pip's lullaby but it turned into a mindless chant, '—the moon, I would dance on a moon beam and then—" **Knock. Knock. Knock. **She was only given three raps as a warning prior to her door sliding open. Ariadne stuttered and jerked up in her cot. "It's only me." Arthur had the door cracked, his face jammed in the small space, "Could I step in for a sec?" He received a positive 'come on' motion of her hand and let himself in while she swung her legs to the side of the bed and bent over to pull her hair into a ponytail. Ariadne heard him through the combing of her hair, "I figured you might not be able to sleep either." Her hair fanned back over when her head came up and she pulled her hair through the ponytail holder several times. Wisps and tufts of curls and baby hair fell out everywhere but it was just Arthur- who continues to talk, "I brought you some hot chocolate to help." The Point handed her hers first and then took a sip of his, agreeing with the hums of appreciation and delight vibrating through her as she gulped down her own tasty beverage. "Thank you." The girl's face is the definition of pure bliss as she smiles with eyes closed, still savoring the drink. She cupped the mug in both hands kittenishly, her eyes fluttered open and she smirked, "This is hitting the spot." Like it was a reward, she patted the bed next to her and let him sit down.

The Point Man smiled back, "I'm glad." Using her elbow, Ariadne pointed to the item tucked under his free arm, "What's that?" He started, as if he'd completely forgotten it was there and pulled it out to offer to her, "They have a small reading room in the car by the bar and I found Jane Eyre. I know it puts you to sleep…" Right, he was. Ariadne had claimed it as one of her favorite books and every year around thanksgiving she would pull it out and attempt to read it through again. If she was determined and actually finished it, it was around Easter. He teased about it boring her. Essentially, it truly fascinated her, and she was obsessed with the relationship of the main characters and their silent torment but the old English conversations and the descriptions of scenery 'put her at such ease' she was out like a light before making it half a chapter. That's why Arthur snickered and exaggerated, "…since it only takes a page to bore you into unconsciousness." To which she squinted, "Har, har…" but accepted it with a secret excitement (or not so secret) nonetheless.

Her right leg crossed over her left after setting the book on her pillow behind her and she inquired, "What are you going to do tomorrow? After it's over, I mean."

Arthur took another swallow of his hot chocolate and quipped, "That depends on if we're successful."

"If we are?" Her eyes rolled. Because really, did she need to be so specific? Their success was implied.

"Then I'll see to it that you return home to Paris safe and sound and I suppose I'll go back to New York. Sniff out some jobs." Their tones were conversational. Mannerly. Like they were discussing the weather over petit fours with top hats and parasols. The only giveaway that they weren't was the monotonous hum of the train and Arthur picking at the wood panels on the wall. "Oh." He sensed the sound of disappointment in his answer as politically correct as it was.

Maybe for courage, Ariadne took a big gulp of the hot chocolate and then set it down, "Paris—" her legs fold up under her, "Paris isn't home. Not anymore." Poor Paris. It would be hard to break it to the beautiful city.

"Oh?" So she _had _moved? That was an option Arthur looked into when he first noticed she was off the grid since his departure. She'd talked about loving Holland when she visited it on one of the more recent jobs she ventured, perhaps she'd moved there. "Where is?"

Ariadne didn't answer right away. She knew how she felt and it made sense to _her_ but phrasing it was another thing altogether. She cringed at him first, "It's gonna sound ridiculous." It was easy to tell it didn't add up in his mind by the narrowed eyes and flat-lined lips. There was no getting around it now so she blew air through her cheeks and blurted it. "I think of anywhere you are as home."

Boom. Wow. That was a stun to his system. Far from all the things he expected to come from her mouth. She kept shocking with little electrics bits of truth, "If you think about it, I haven't really had a stable residence since you left. Even before I went with the Hoods our flat didn't feel the same anymore." Arthur had no desire to interrupt her. He set his cup aside and turned more towards her, hanging on each word despite himself. "And the whole time I was stranded underground I wasn't homesick for Paris. I was homesick for you." Ariadne paused and twisted her face in confusion. Asked herself out loud—or maybe she was asking him—or maybe the empty air in the car, "Can you be home sick for a person?" He debated…considered the fact that being with Ariadne again after their separation felt like all the comfortableness, release, and content of collapsing into your own bed after a long trip away…yes. He agreed. You could be homesick for a person. He started to say as much when she interrupted, her hands circling and gesturing to help convey her thoughts. "It's hard to explain but I just keep thinking of that saying 'Home Is Where The Heart Is…'" her hands dropped back down, useless. Ariadne looked at him all melancholy, like it was a tragedy she'd accepted and could do nothing about. "…And I gave you mine a while ago, so..."

_I never loved you. I hate you! _

Arthur genuinely didn't know what to say. His face was blank because he was going through all the possibilities in his mind of where this conversation could possibly go. Ariadne shrugged. Dismissive. "I guess what all that means is I miss you…And I understand if after the way we broke it off maybe you haven't missed me-" That was something he didn't have to think about. His reply was instinctual. As if he had some reflex catered to her doubting his feelings, "You _know_ I've missed you," he corrected. It took a deep breath to get there but he reached the point where he didn't mind the circumstance, Arthur needed to admit. It spilled out easily and painlessly enough, "I still love you, Ariadne. So much…" It's bordering on a bluster. Honestly, how was that not clear? Every move since she called him from the payphone was evidence of that. It frustrated him that she could be so blind (never mind the fact she wasn't in her right mind for a while but still). What made it worse was the alleviation on her face-like she'd suspected otherwise. "If you don't know how infinitely by this point-"

Ariadne shook her head like it would shut him up. She swallowed, "I do. I'm sorry I've been weird…If I haven't been clinging to you like a scared little kid, I've been screaming at you like a harpie. I've treated you awful…and I've been so, _so, _distant." Little by little, she tensed less and less.

"You should've been. It makes complete sense after what you've been through."

Ariadne's head tilted, "I still love you too…"His heart jumped to his throat. That's all he's wanted to know, to hear, for months now. To be certain she didn't despise his very existence after what he'd thrown her into, after his horrible nightmare, "Yeah?"

"Yeah…" he heard the steady rise and fall of her breath and how it matched in time with the rhythm of his. Arthur tracked the movement of her eyes down past his nose and to his lips, caught them when they flickered back tentatively and then mimicked them while they fluttered closed. The kiss was quick, chaste, very much like their first.

Out of the two, Ariadne opened her eyes first. Immediately after, she pulled away because she wanted to gauge his reaction. The Point's eyes were still closed, his eyebrows beginning to crease. The Architect took the opportunity to cup the side of his face and press her mouth to Arthur's a second time. Even sweeter, lighter, like a wisp of feathers. He had yet to respond to her ministrations. So she placed another peck that barely brushed against him. The last one was the winner. Ariadne felt his hand clench the fabric of her shirt and his head surged to meet their lips again: Firm, arduous…he deepened it once, twice, three times and then broke it off. Once more, her eyes opened first. Arthur's face was contorted similar to the way it would if she'd punched him in the stomach. He sighed, exhausted sounding, "God, Ari…it's like nothing's changed. You still own me."

The Architect was smirking once his eyes opened but timidly. "Would you come back to me if I asked you, then?"

"I never _really_ wanted to leave," simultaneously his fists free the fabric of her shirt (leaving it wrinkled). "I want to pick up where we left off…"

_All you did was breathe down my neck…_

He cursed the smile the crept on her face because he was fixing to smash it, "And if our dynamic had changed in the slightest…I think we could've but—"

Right away, she scowled, "Don't ruin this with the 'buts' already…I still love you. You still love me. There's a simple straightforward solution to that. Why do you have to complicate it?" The man went to reply "Be—" but the woman squeezed in, "Over technicalities, at that."

"_Because_ I love you. Because I'm no good for you…" Eyes rolled and made him raise his voice like he had to talk over the action, "Because I'm selfish; I want to protect you to prevent _my own_ grief. I'm too controlling. I've tried to fix that and I can't. I don't deserve you." Arthur received astringency with her retort but it was more aimed at herself. She still had buried issues of self-loathing at times, "If you knew the things I've done, you'd know I'm not exactly a privilege."

There was no arguing with her about her self image because every time he tried, she got more distraught. However, there was another point he could make for his case. "You think I'd ever want to let you out of the house—out of my sight again? Especially after all this. The overprotectiveness hasn't gotten better and it will only get worse." In reality though, it _had_ improved. With them apart, he didn't feel like he had the right to dictate or suggest or ask her to answer to him for certain things. He forced himself to let it go and let her be. Which was good… and he should keep it that way for her sake.

_I've bent heaven and earth to grant your every wish!  
My wish was to be an Architect!_

"You want to be an infamous dream architect and you can be that. You can be that and more, Ariadne. I'll be damned if I'm the one that stands in your way."

"I don't want that anymore." She stood from the bed, turned to tower over him, fingers dug into the creases of her eyes like they would if she were rubbing sleep out of them. (Except more aggravated and rough.) They splayed out into jazz hands in the air in front of her (minus the twinkling and the cheer) "I don't want to be apart. I don't want to feel a distance between us."

_I only married you because I was still vulnerable and scared. And I thought I needed protection._

Arthur sighed and folded his hands into his lap. Promptly. Full of aplomb. He regarded her as her psychiatrist would. Like she didn't understand the deeper meaning of the things she was saying. "Only because our breakup was closely followed by a traumatic experience. You think you need me as a bodyguard." She refuted with shakes of her head and lasers from her eyes, "You've placed this idea of security on me that you didn't have before. You don't still love me; you think you need me." He was thrown a scoff. "You think I can make things better, that I can prevent things—"

_You're breaking all of our hearts, Ariadne, just stay. Please._

"—and I can't."

"Stop putting words in my mouth," Commanded the Architect, using an index finger to emphasize. "Stop telling me what I'm feeling. Stop _thinking you know_ what I want and listen to what I'm telling you." Telling her she was mistaking her feelings? Insisting she doesn't love him? Now he'd done it…he could be such an infuriating hypocrite sometimes. How come Ariadne's affections towards him weren't credited? What, they weren't as evident as his? How come _he_ could get offended when _she _wasn't sure of his attachment to her and she couldn't when the shoe was on the other foot? It was no wonder she was unsure of his love for her…clearly, his actions contradicted his words. Obviously, his reciprocation or lack thereof was confusing at best. Ariadne began to pace, "I don't think I need you because of everything that's happened. All I've been through just made me realize that I've needed you all along." Frowning and still marching to and fro, she leveled a look at him, "This hasn't made me afraid of being away from you. This has forced me to see that I never wanted to be. Hell, I already knew that." The slap of her hands against the tops of her legs punctuated the toss of her arms and their limp descent. "_You_ already knew that. I mean I practically begged you to stay." It came out like it disgusted her.

One bladed hand calmly raised and paused in level with his sternum, "Look," it dropped while her stance shifted. "I know our relationship has been the most serious you've had—" in the middle of his sentence he tapered off. Partly because he felt asinine when her mouth gawked open in faux amazement. Ariadne eyes twinkled with incredulity; the Architect almost seemed amused he had the audacity to try and use that as a valid advantage in their dispute. He forged ahead, grabbed her hand forcefully, "but it won't be the only one. You're the strongest woman I've met. You survived and came back from things I can't even imagine. You can make it through a meaningless break up." Arthur had nearly allayed her until the last unwise comment. Her hand wrenched itself from his, she avoided his gaze in favor of the door to her cabin.

If_ you come back. Eames will sweep you into that world again and you won't give a second thought to us._

"You'll find someone else."

Ariadne's head snapped back to him and Arthur found himself shoved back against the mattress. Ariadne's hands pressed him into the cot, her body hovered over his. He had to stare into her unwavering, resolute face in silence for several seconds before, "I don't _want _someone else."

_I don't regret _them.  
_What does that mean? You regret me? You regret being my wife?!  
More than anything._

"No," The Architect faltered because she assumed he'd given in and agreed. That gave him the chance to gently take hold of her wrists and push them both up. "You don't think so now. But you'll find someone. And he'll be a perfect fit for you." She was unaware that was coming. And it stupefied her. It actually reached its claws down her throat and made her speechless. "He won't bat an eye when you come home with bullet holes. He won't argue with you about how many times you go under." Arthur had sat all the way up at the edge of the bed and her knees had slid from the edge of the cot to stand in front of him. The only thing that grounded her to reality, to that moment and those words and made her positive they were happening was his steady, yet soft grips on her wrists, "And maybe after nine years slaving in the business, an inception and an unforgettable kiss in a dream hotel," The Point slowly stood himself, compressing her wrists to his chest without realizing it. "It'll be _your _turn to meet that one person worth giving it all up for."

_I miss it too…but you and Easton and Alli are worth it. You three are more than enough for me._

"I'm not worth it," rasped the Point Man. One of the Architect's hands fanned open and splayed across his chest right where his heart was. It was here that he noticed what he was doing. And how he held her hands against him like his life depended on it. "Stop," requested Ariadne. Whereas she'd directed it at his monologue he presumed she meant his grasp, so the Point Man surrendered her wrists and continued his speech. "He'll saunter in, hurl out a surly comment about creation, point out your extractor's bullshit and hook you right away. Line and sinker." There was moisture filling up his eyes that shouldn't be there. Everything was wrong about this oration…because he wasn't imagining some future, he was describing _their _first day together. Used it as a kind of twisted template. This time she pleaded, "Please stop." At that point Arthur sounded nothing other than defeated, "You'll _want_ to marry _him_—"

_You regret being my wife?!  
More than anything._

"I said I would marry you."

_I only married you because I was still vulnerable and scared._

"Have his children."

_Do you really hate Daddy?  
Well I—I love you two very much. And without your father, I wouldn't have you._

"I almost had yours."

"You'll live and breathe and," he swallowed, her first tear rolled, "probably die for him."

_I never loved you. I hate you!_

"Arthur…" It was whispered as her hands weaved through his hair to the back of his head. The sound of him clearing his throat is all that resounded while she tugged on him to get closer, to lean the crook of his nose by the crook of hers, to satisfy whatever ache he'd just instilled in her core. Arthur's palms located the ends of her shirt again, bunched them up—it was all the Point would permit himself to return. "And should he ever treat you less than you deserve, I'll be there to kill him for it."

_But it's not enough for me! I want adventure!_

With hesitance, he distanced Ariadne from him. "All I've ever wanted was your happiness. You'll get over me and when you do, trust me, you'll be _so_ happy."

Numb. No blood courses through her veins at the moment; it's Novocain. She limply plopped to sit on her cot. He shadowed. Next, she quipped-back to her sarcasm, "Or maybe I'll just die in that hell hole tomorrow and not have to try."

He ordered, "Don't say that. We've all lost you too many times already," It couldn't be helped. Arthur yearned to kiss her temple so he leaned over to do exactly that. It was no surprise when her head turned and her body leaned away. The man's face dropped down so that his forehead leant against her shoulder. And it was no coincidence: the tense of her body, the hiccups of breaths. Her arm went up to wipe furiously at her face and plunked back down. Ariadne was crying. "Please don't be upset with me…," Arthur lifted his head off her.

"I don't know what you expect me to be right now."

_You're fighting again. We don't like it when you fight._

"You don't need a relationship at this point in your life. You need to focus on you. And I need to do what's best…if giving this—us—up is what's best than I'm sorry, baby, I have to do it. I'd rather part from you while you still love me. Not wait until those feelings turn to hatred." Ariadne ignored him. She got up, walked around to the side of her bed and pulled back the covers to get in.

_You tricked me into giving up everything I ever wanted—everything I ever worked for—to suffer five years of a miserable marriage._

"I'm not going to let us struggle through a damaging relationship…because we're stubborn; we'd do it 'til it killed us. I have to take control of this situation." The Architect finally met his eyes again, poignant. That last phrase was another bullet to the heart…he instantly regretted saying it however honest it was. Ariadne climbed into the cot, pulled the sheets over and turned on the side that put her back to him, "I need to sleep. Goodnight."

Arthur fidgeted but ultimately (and dejectedly…hope he was proud of himself and his accomplishment…) trudged to her door and mumbled, "Goodnight." The Point slid it open and was halfway out when her voice sailed back into his ears. "There's a difference, Arthur." He turned at the first syllable. "You're not giving us up…You're giving up on us."

It struck a chord. A chord that reverberated and tingled his tendons long after he closed her door behind him and settled into his own cot.  
xxxxxx

Ariadne stepped out the next morning blowing a deep inhale out of her cheeks. She was in comfy leggings and a mint sweatshirt but that would change when they arrived at their destination. The opportunity to sleep in until lunch was there but after a restless night, forcing herself to stay and wallow around in the bed scrounging for scraps of rest would stress her more than prepare her. Lazily, she French braided her back to get it out of her face (she missed enough strands it looked like she'd slept with it that way), chucked on her current garb and got out of the stifling cabin. Barely three seconds after she slid the door shut, Yusuf emerged across the small passageway. His wardrobe lacked the same amount of effort: some painter's pants and a v neck with a blazer. They exchanged warm, encouraging smiles and Yusuf suggested, "Breakfast?" They fell into step but Yusuf strolled in front because the halls didn't allow enough width for two people to walk side by side. Not soon enough, the tiny space opened up into the restaurant car and allowed them to breathe. They found a table close to the entrance of the next car over (which was more seating for the patrons) beside a window. Immediately upon sitting, an attendant handed them two menus and asked for beverages. "Uh, water," for the Architect and "Orange juice, please," for the Chemist. Ariadne's chin was rested in her hand while she looked over the menu. If she was honest, she wasn't too hungry. The water would do. But the smarter side of her said she'd need sustenance to be at the top of her game for the operation. Who knew if she would have the chance to eat a lunch or a dinner or another breakfast…so she tapped her fingers against her cheek and forced herself to look for something appetizing. Drinks appeared out of thin air, "Decided?"

Yusuf was still perusing when she glanced up at him so she ordered first, the fingernail of her index finger between her teeth, "Hash browns…a fruit cup, I guess…" Ariadne scanned for anything else that didn't sound repulsive so early in the morning, "And could I have—like—just a quarter of an order of sausage?"

The waiter's skepticism was easily readable, "That's only one link, Miss."

She tried to politely insist, "That's all I really need…" The Chemist had decided what he wanted by then and exaggerated the drop of his menu and the look of disbelief at her order but the server complied and scribbled into his pad.

Yusuf whistled beforehand, "Ok. Two eggs sunny side up, order of hash browns, Texas toast and a side of bacon." He aimed a look at Ariadne, "Full order." The waitron made the note, collected the cards used for menus and promised to refill the Architect's water as she teased her companion, "Geeze Yusuf…did they feed you in Japan?"

He laughed with her and purposelessly arranged and rearranged the small packages of butter and jellies. Once the moment was gone, the man detected her insecure tucking of hair behind her ears and nervous scan of the room. "You ready for this?"

The girl pulled a face at him, "Sort of…I'm coping by pretending it's not really happening. It seems to work. That's how I got two hours of sleep last night." She smirked because she wasn't ecstatic with his sympathetic gaze and wanted to act in a way that would change it. Briefly, Ariadne leant over and opened the shade of the window. What they saw were trees and trees and trees whizzing past. Woods have trees…and Ariadne and the Woods had a complicated relationship…so it was shut quickly.  
xxxxxx

Several tables back, the Point Man took a drag of black liquid from his mug and watched her intently (while she slid the shade down) over Saito's shoulder as the businessman ran through a check list off his phone, "Communication."

Arthur snapped back to the task and pulled his own phone and it's stylus out. Saito patiently waited for the Point to finish the clicking and scrolling. "We went with the walkie earpieces by Nokia. That way we wouldn't have to rely on wifi or cell service; all we need is the same frequency. One of your men is supposed to distribute them this morning. They're all already set to the same channel."

Saito nodded and questioned without looking up from his handheld, "Communication with me."

Arthur answered back like with the efficiency and quickness of a search engine, "Misha is your man for that. He'll be out of the field to monitor the Hoods' tech activity. The different squads will report to him when they can and keep you updated."

The Asian make a check motion on his screen, "Excellent. Intervention of the authorities?" The younger of the two men prepared to explain that the authorities would not be contacted until the operation came to a close and all Hoods had either surrendered, died or been captured in their possession. As he went into it, he felt a clap on his back.  
xxxxxx

Cobb turned back over his shoulder to give his best friend a heartening nod and grin which Arthur returned. The Extractor surmised that if _he _were biting his nails (figuratively speaking) and getting edgier with each mile traversed, then Arthur was on the cusp of a coronary. And what Ariadne was feeling? He was slightly afraid to fathom. A familiar face sat alone on the right side of the car, so he squeezed in next to him. The waiter was there bringing the Englishman another drink and reaching for his plate, "Oh no," he lifted a hand, "I'm still working on it."

When asked Cobb spouted, "Coffee, two creams, one sugar. Thank you." Then, "Already, Eames? It's—" he checked his watch—"barely eight."

Eames winked, "Never know which drink will be your last," and lifted his glass in salute. The other chap scoffed, "You do if you intentionally drink your weight's worth before the day's even started."

"I needed something to tranquilize the old nerves," The Forger squinted at the half-raised screen over the window and drove it all the way up: Trees and trees and trees…

"Ugh." Was the only noise needed to convey how much Cobb concurred. The coffee was brought out and he bantered while pouring in the extras and stirring, "You'd think we'd be used this kind of shit by now. Guns, rogues…"

Here, the Englishman broke away from the (truly mundane) view and pursed his lips, "Actually, we're used to ducking, running and hiding not riding into battle."

"True," dismissed Dom. He let his eyes roam the car and only then noticed the Chemist and the Architect sitting almost directly across the car, some tables and customers scattered between them. Like sensing he was on display, Yusuf looked over and met Cobb's glance so Cobb greeted, "Morning."  
xxxxxx

"Morning." Ariadne heard Yusuf chirp. Deserting her in-depth read of the ingredients in honey butter, she looked up with a knit in her brow for who he was addressing. Unless Yusuf was losing his mind (or she hers but Ariadne reckoned that'd already happened), he wasn't talking to her. In pleasant surprise, she saw Dom and Eames mirroring them. She put on a soft smile and waved. The shorter one waved back. And she believed the Forger was in the process of one too when he flipped his hand around and motioned for her to come over.

Ariadne excused herself past a few full tables in between them. Eames' arms were outstretched to her as she came up and she took the invitation to not only hug him but sit in his lap like a kid would sit on their uncle's. "And how are we this a.m.?" his intonation smoothed.

"Eh…" the girl scrunched one side of her face, looked at the man across the table from them and shook her hand. Out from around her shoulder, the arm attached to the Brit pointed at his mostly (and messily) devoured breakfast, "Nothing a cinnamon raison crepe doused in powdered sugar can't fix." Cobb's laughter trickled; she expected her aghast grimace at the state of Eames' plate set and mangled pastry was the cause. Oblivious, Eames continued, "Go on and have a bite. I personally loved it." Her and Cobb engaged in feigned looks of horror before Cobb ribbed, "We can tell." Still, the recommendation was prolonged, "It'll have you bouncing off the walls…"

She pushed the plate further towards Cobb with two fingers and rejected, "That's ok, I have food coming." Then, Ariadne noticed the glass in his hand, "Scotch?" She twisted over her shoulder and gave him a maternal-ish scold, "It's like eight in the morning—"

"That's what _I_ told him…" harmonized Dom just before his phone buzzed.

"It's apple juice, thank you."

The Architect leant in and sniffed his breath, "It is _not._" But she was more amused than troubled by it, "How many have you had?" Her gaze followed his to the man across from them. She noted the delight on their mutual friend's face as he looked down at his phone screen, however she wanted an answer so she returned to Eames with askance.

"It is my third and my last. You lot can stop badgering me about it, I'm not fixing to perform surgery." The forger was ever humorous; his grin eating through the fake glare.

Ariadne laughed and shrugged, flippant, "Nah..." if there was one thing they loved doing together it was outwitting the other with sarcasm, "Just handling some guns…dangerous machinery…that's all." She smirked. One eyebrow perfectly arched.

"Who needs to live?" His hand swatted through the air, insouciantly. Just then, Cobb piped up, "Miles and the kids say good luck." Both the Parisian and the Englishman paused to listen to him. He holds the screen for them to see, "Even sent us a picture." Miles wasn't in the frame (probably the one who took the photo) but James' bright, smiling face beamed in the front half of the photo and Pippa blew a kiss in the space that was left. Ariadne cooed. Then, "You should be with them. I feel bad for taking you away all these months…"

"I visited them when I could. With the Hoods watching the skies for anything to locate us or them…It was better I stay in one place." The phone was taken from his hands and put on picture mode. She decided she wanted to send one back for them so Eames was nudged and he puckered his lips while Ariadne flashed her teeth. When Cobb took the device back, he added, "Besides, I wouldn't have been reunited with my kids if not for you. It's my turn to follow _you _into whatever mess you lead me."  
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"Ariadne." He couldn't help but look up when her name was called across the car. He'd been watching her off and on through his discussion with Saito. The Point knew she wasn't sitting on Eames' lap and taking pictures and ignoring him on purpose.

"Good work, Arthur. If you'll excuse me, I have a conference call with one of my CEO's." Nodding once, the Point took another sip of coffee. Just ahead of him The Chemist was signaling with his hand and pointing at the servers' distribution of plates, "Food." Arthur slid his focus across to judge her reaction. The Architect hopped off of Eames' lap, bid them so long for now and hurried back to her table. On the way she bumped into Saito, "Sir."

"Ariadne."

They shook hands, she insisted he pass first and—felt the Point's stare. He wasn't expecting the sincerity in the upturn of her lips and the cordial lift of her hand. After the debacle they had the night before he expected a minor grudge, some hardheaded antipathy or at least some frustration. He supposed too much else was on her mind for her to remember…then again, Ariadne wasn't anything if not resilient. He used the seconds she allotted to wait for his response to ponder all this. Then kicked himself in the butt when she awkwardly turned to sit.  
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Four more chapter guys. Yay, its almost over, bet youre glad.  
**NEXT CHAPTER:** ACTUAL INFILTRATION.

Also. **Pictures of Arthur and Ariadne's children:** Easton and Allivia are on my bio. If you care. They actually look soooo much like them. Especially Alli.


	22. Beast's Back

Thanks Lauraa-x!

**Chapter 22: Beast's Back**

They'd been hiking through the woods for four hours now. According to plan, they waited until the sun went down to send in the first few squads. The team was dropped off a mile North of the State Park opposite the side Cobb and the Gang and the Maus' had driven in from) and instead of walking along the road, followed Ariadne straight into the greenery and began the trek.

Yusuf mused how different of a person she became when her shoes hit the soil. Ariadne transformed into part of the woods. He was used to her confident, swaying, strut—the one she used to roam daily. This was another thing entirely. It was lower, her weight pressed into the ground. It seemed like she was dancing through the nature. The Architect knew exactly where to step, which plants to avoid. She could feel the sap on a tree and know where they were. And whereas the rest of them had to don night vision goggles, her eyes adjusted effortlessly. Fascinating. Until he remembered how she was so in tune with this place. Eames had paused his footing, looked up and commented, "It's so dark here when we're under a canopy of trees. I don't see how you do it without a flashlight." Ariadne stopped right in front of Yusuf and he shuffled not to collide with her. She looked up as well. In domino effect, the entire legion of men she was leading slowed to a stop behind her. What was hushed conversation died down to silence. Only crickets, cicadas, and the occasional hoot of an owl or howl of a coyote were heard. "Where I was…" Their faces were outlined in green because of his goggles, but Yusuf saw their profiles switch and face each other. "This is pretty bright." From there, she nimbly stepped over an overturned log and ducked under a cracked and hanging branch. Eames and some other bodies continued following. Yusuf took the information into too much consideration. How much darker could it get? It was pitch black now. Was she being literal? The Chemist turned back to see if anyone was as baffled at the implication as he was. Arthur merely glanced at him (bemused as always) as he walked past but Yusuf fell into step with Cobb when he clapped his hand on his back and guided him forward.  
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To Eames, the surroundings all looked the same. And if he was in the mood (or felt Ariadne was in the mood) to banter, he would tease about them going in circles. Or stopping and asking for directions-there were several wisecracks he could make. On his other side, Arthur was basically sleepwalking. Eames felt bad for him, he knew the Point had been up before sunrise to get everything prepared. Aside from that he guessed Arthur and Ariadne had had a tussle or _something._ Something was strained there. It wasn't as if they were hostile, they didn't act mad or upset with the other…the dynamic was just off. Mechanical. Arthur had kept his distance all day and even now chose to walk on Eames' other side instead of the other side of her. The Forger got that the two were engrossed in this operation and every ounce of each of them centered on it (hell, Eames' did too right now) but he figured they'd at least determinedly march to the enemy together.

His thoughts were interrupted by Ariadne backhanding his chest. The sounds of other feet, stumbled to a stop with him. And everyone on their plane formed a line. Eyes were on her. The girl bent to the ground and felt around. Even with the fuzzy green attempt at keeping his vision cleared, it was tough to see what she was fixated on. When she stood, though, it was clear. Sort of. It was clear that she had picked up a rock and was rolling it around in her palm. Everyone remained in the spot as she took some cautious steps forward and threw the stone like you would a bowling ball. There was a beat they expected it to be whooshing through the air. In lieu of hearing it densely thud on the ground with the crunch of leaves or collide against a tree and chip some bark, they heard a vicious clamp of metal that resounded with a high pitched _CHING! _ His gun was out before he knew it and out of his peripheral he saw Arthur's stance and his firearm posed. Several clicks behind them told Eames that most of the squad had reflexively prepared for a shootout. Ariadne—on the other hand—wasn't startled at all. Perhaps she'd expected the sound. "Watch your step," she called. Her head lolled up as she surveyed around and then she pointed. Proud of herself that's she'd caught it. High in the tree to the group's left was a coyote hanging upside down by its feet, mouth slacked open. It swung in the subtle breeze and if you followed the wire around it you could trace it back to a pulley in the tree and a tripped wire on the ground and a clear blaze through the leaves and brush of where the animal body had been dragged. Over her shoulder, Ariadne warned, "We're in the hunting grounds."

They stopped for a rest sometime around midnight. Scouted out a clearing devoid of booby traps where everyone could lean against a tree or sit on a trunk and rest for the hardships ahead. The buzz that had surrounded the large assemblage at the onset had long crashed. Everyone trudged along on the journey that never seemed to end. Ariadne found a stump to sit on, rested her head in her hands, her elbows on her knees and closed her eyes. Even the simulation of sleep would be beneficial. She was paying the price of running on a collective five hours of sleep since the morning they hopped on the plane out of Japan. A rustle sounded in the foliage by her. At first she suspected the Forger. But the figure hadn't cracked a joke in the point two seconds it had joined her so next she surmised it was Dom. He hadn't left her side (well he had walked in front of or behind but always near) the entire trek. The Architect found herself venting to him: (every other time he'd asked how she was doing since the train, she'd waved him off. This time she decided she was miserable enough to tell him the truth.) "Aside from the fact that I'm exhausted, starving, scared shitless and Arthur hasn't said a word to me all day…I'm fine Cobb."

"I thought you might want space." Ariadne gasped and lifted her head up. It was the Point who knelt beside her, "I didn't think you'd want me bothering or worrying over you."

She shook her head, "Please bother me. Annoy me and make me mad and stubborn—"

"—I don't have to make you _that_—" Arthur kidded.

The girl ignored it,"—and determined to defy you so that I remember why I wanted to do this again…" Suddenly, her arms circled his neck and she squeezed him tight, hid her face in his shoulder. "I need you now more than ever. Couple or not. The closer we get, the sicker I feel. The more naked I feel." Both his palms rubbed circles between her shoulder blades to bolster her courage. "The longer we spend out here in the dark, the sharper I feel his claws sink back into me. And I-" At first, he thought there was something wrong because of the way she forcefully and urgently pulled away from him. Turned out she just had a compulsory need to look him in the eyes again—"I just need you." Arthur nodded. "Just walk by me and look at me the way you always do. Remind me that I'm the person I am. Not the person Wolffe turned me into."

"You got it." He then pulled some fruit from the small pack he'd brought and proffered it. Ariadne took it eagerly, thanks written all over her features. She peeled it and started munching on the banana while he stood. Misha had called him on their earpieces said he needed a report to give to Saito. He told him to hold on and smoothed her hair before he walked to a more isolated area, "I think we're gonna camp out for another twenty minutes. Why don't you try and get some shut eye." Arthur jutted his head towards his bag, "You can use that as a pillow if you want."

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4 hours and 7 near entrapped experiences later, the snares and tripwires began to taper into nothing and Yossu encountered the first reason why. He gagged and covered his nose when his foot bumped something solid and fleshy. It was a dead, decaying body with a potato sack on its head. Instantaneously, the Architect roused from the daze she was in and the flame of her purpose kindled. "This is it." She motioned for Yossu to copy her prior to squatting near the ground and rubbing dirt on her clothes and face. Hoods who did the POW dumps normally came back grubby. Yusuf (being the medically inclined and curious human he is) inspected the body. Lifted the sack from its (or his) head—and quickly, quickly, very fast jerked it back when the stench disseminated and the flies burst out and around. The army of men switched on their headsets. From this point on there would be no conversation, no talking face to face allowed. Simply hushed, brief, notifications murmured into the earpieces. Ariadne gave them a moment to do so and then informed them all. "Squads 1-3: remember as you make your way to the main hatch that there are skylights embedded into the ground within a mile radius of the rock formation. They can detect shadows so mind your step. Squad 5: The hatch you're entering through leads directly into the Consequence Dig. There are pitted cells filled with their hostages. Get them out and safe before assisting us. That's your first and foremost priority. And everyone: Good luck."

Yossu glided to her with the cloaks he carried in his pack. They slipped them on simultaneously. Hers was a brown one this go-around. For two reasons: One, the boys had her red one incinerated once they got to Japan. Two, even if she still owned it in wearable condition, the color would draw attention. Ariadne and Yossu were going to infiltrate first. Once the lot of Hoods had climbed out with the dumps of the day, they would climb in and open the main hatch for Squads 1-3. For now, the Architect and her former physical therapist/trainer would continue the rest of the way on their lonesome and hide out in the brush by the mouth of the second hatch until Hoods emerged around dawn. They were the first soldiers in. Yossu took some deep meditative breaths and shook the hands of fellow crusaders. Ariadne's boys lined themselves up and readied their encouragements and wishes of good fortune.

The first she came to was good ole Eames. The Forger scooped her up and hauled her off the ground. He put her down with the gift of a wink. Of course everything in the Englishman died to jest and make her laugh one last time (-last before the big Op, he means) but he reined it in like a pro for fear of actual punishment in breaking the protocol. They weren't supposed to talk. Not like he didn't do anything…they shared a few clock ticks of fake (limp, light, and smiley) punches and dodges before she moved on to Cobb.

Ariadne and Dom stared on at each other and blinked to begin. (And bloody hell, Eames was sure that was all the two were going to do. He even leaned forwards, made cross eyes at Yusuf and pointed at his watch…he needed to get some teasing out of his system for anxieties sake.) Then Cobb dropped his head so that he was peering at her with his eyeballs at the top of the lids. The petite Parisian mirrored. (Uhh? It _was _a little bizarre. Yusuf stretched to send a look of confused agreement to the Forger.) The Extractor made a two with his fingers, pointed to his eyes and then directed them at her and there is where his uplifting grin entered the picture. Hers grew as well when she copied his motion. The interchange of looks and motions would mean nothing, make no sense to anyone else on the planet. But it reinforced the two Architects' (the once was and the now is) faith and loyalty in the other. The last and first time they'd done it was during Inception, in limbo. Cobb pointed out the skyscraper Mal was surely waiting in and in the stairwell she grabbed his arm. _"You're sure she's up there?" "Yes." "You can't stay with her Cobb. You need to start preparing for that. You know that, right? Your guilt is going to try and force you to lose yourself." "I won't. We'll get Fischer and get out. That's it. My kids are up above…if there's anything I know, I know I have to get back to them." She dropped her head, peered through her eyelashes, pointed her index and middle fingers to eyes and then to him. All in good humor. And he did the same before continuing. _Dom made sure to pull her into a firm hold and pat her back after.

Yusuf was shyer, more reserved than the rest of the team. He nodded. Emitting respect, admiration, assurance and belief in her all at once, all in one minimal, meek action. Where he was from and with the traditions he'd grown up with, he kept to himself. Ariadne was the one who held her arms out in expectance of a hug. And the Chemist took the invitation with enthusiasm and bear hugged her.

It seemed everyone noticed their shoes, or the tops of the trees or that really fascinating dead guy for the first time in unison, when Ariadne came upon Arthur. Her smile for him was uncertain because she knew he despised her in-depth involvement in this more than anything. That he frowned upon the fact that she was the first to go in. He'd made an effort to show his respect for her decision and an unwavering support despite his misgivings but she wasn't sure how he'd handle (or want her to handle) this salutation. Truthfully, she expected him to view this as a last goodbye because he tended to be so pessimistic. Ariadne was pulled into his embrace by his hand on the back of her head and spanning down from her shoulder to her lower back. Not that she wasn't anticipating a hug—but it came so sudden that it took her by surprise along with the realization that he was breaking the rule. He was speaking aloud (though not loudly). It was low and at the bottom of his throat, creeping through her hair to her ear, "Show them what you're made of." The Architect's hands were pressed against his chest and her limbs folded awkwardly. She changed that by skating the expanse of his torso with her palms and winding them behind his back, under his suit jacket. Tight. Her only intended response. But Arthur whispered again, "I know you don't believe me but I love you. More than anything." His hold loosened to allow her to pick the side of her head off his chest and look up at him—into him—it was as good an excuse as any to rebel against the protocol herself. The Point felt her breath tickle him as she replied, murmured, "And I know _you _don't believe _me _but I love you too. More than _anything._" His eyes closed. He tried in those last moments together to convince himself she was telling the absolute truth. That for those few perfect seconds she remained in his grasp, they were back in their apartment in Paris and together and happy and she was merely leaving to browse the farmer's market and not confront her keeper. The iron weighing his stomach melted and pooled, his chest tightened…for she had placed a searing kiss on his cheek. Then demanded, "Don't you dare get killed in there." When she backed away again, cut off all physical contact, he forced his mouth to upturn. "Yes ma'am."The material was pulled over her head as Yossu joined her and they marched away from them all. Backs turned, shoulders down, heads high, eyes alert. And in a matter of seconds,

Ariadne was Hooded.

Again.

Whilst the Architect and Yossu vanished somewhere in the dark blue, Arthur yanked a potato sack out of his pocket. Through the headsets everyone heard his booming order, "Commence." The collection of armed men and women scattered behind them into the night.  
xxxxxx  
xxxxxx

"Alright brothers, we all ready?" One of the Browns stood at the opening of the hatch and looked down at a faction of his fellow Hoods each with a body or two draped over their shoulders. As always, there were beeps, a hiss and a resounding click as the top opened. One by one, they clambered out of the underground empire and dispersed. Each man or woman wore sunglasses and each hood was secured over half of their face; the bright white light of early morning proved to be too much for their retinas to handle. They filed out like shadows and not one looked back to take notice of two 'of their own' hopping in after them.  
xxxxxx  
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It couldn't have been an hour but it definitely wasn't a few minutes that it took them to reach the clayish, rough, bottom of the stairwell. Ariadne saw from the corner of her eye, Yossu reach back into his cowl to pull out his firearm. Her hand caught his forearm and she shook her head negatively. The glow of the hallway was surprisingly a little brighter, a warmer brownish glow—maybe the trainer's vision had just gotten used to it or maybe it was due to the torches lining the back of the walls. The Architect's heart stopped when they were addressed by a figure (a Brown—small comforts) posed on a chipping wood chair near the other entrance of the hall, "That was fast. What'd you do? Drop the bodies by the mouth of the hatch and come back?" The overtone was chiding and comical the one hiding beneath that was laced with suspicion. Both her and Yossu's bodies tensed—_relax, Ariadne. You're fine—_as the Hood stood from his chair and sauntered over to them.  
xxxxxx

He did a little hopping move to hoist the body farther back on his shoulder again. The outskirts of the dumping ground weren't much farther but his back was beginning to ache. Was it morbid that this was his favorite duty assigned by his Brotherhood? Transporting lifeless lumps of flesh and leaving them for the animals to sniff out or for the worms to come get. He'd always prided himself with bringing justice to the world. Like Batman or Iron Man. He didn't have super powers but he made it possible. He held the corporations responsible for destroying the earth, the economy and even humanity accountable. He loved when agents of their wrongdoing were shut down and left for mother nature to absorb and take her vengeance on. The Brown stepped over another P.O.W, previously left for his demise and chuckled.

Until he felt fingers wrap around his ankle and went toppling face first into the dirt. He landed with an oomph on the legs of the body he was carrying and heard the thump of its upper half strike the ground. Surely, he'd just tripped and his mind was playing tricks on him. He went to pull his leg in and discovered it was caught by something because it would not budge. The Brown sat up and looked over his shoulder to—the dead P.O.W. had somehow come back to life. It sat up, ripped off its potato sack and mischievous hazel eyes jeered back at him, "Hello, Darling…You thought I was dead, didn't you?" Frantically, the Hood looked around. Were any of his companions around, was anyone else seeing this? The Englishman stood, towered over the young man and sheathed his weapon. "Sorry to pull your leg." It was his snicker this time, "Get it? _Pull _your leg. Because I—" Eames kicked the Hood's foot. As his foe opened his mouth to call out, The Forger was suddenly upon him. He straddled his legs, held the man's arms to the man's body and clamped his hand over his mouth. "Here's how this is going down: You speak or struggle, you die. You cooperate, you live. Only because I have strict orders from a tiny Parisian pixie to spare lives. Which shall it be, mate?"

Eames hissed when the Hood pinched the skin of his palm between his teeth and grunted when it head butted him and knocked him backwards. There was a brief second of recovery in which the Brown scrambled to stand and yelled at the top of his lungs, "Intr—" Bam. Tackled to the ground again by Mr. Eames; his rough forearm took the chance of a biting this time. The Forger gave the young man a despondent look and a click of his tongue, "Damn. I was hoping I could tell Shortie I got started on the right foot." He pressed the barrel of his gun into the Brown's side, fired and went to see if any of _his _companions needed help.  
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"Intr-!" The Brown halted above the body he'd just tossed in the bush and scanned the area. Not but three feet to his right was another Brown. The second had knelt to shove aside an old, decaying P.O.W. to lay the one in his arms by it. He, too, had paused and they exchanged looks of skepticism. They heard a thump and muffled sounds behind a tree. The first Brown mentioned rolled his eyes, "Seth. Stop being a retard and get out here." Seth did get out there but only with the assistance of two arms that pushed him from behind the trunk. Once he had to depend on his own to legs he belly flopped onto the dirt, eyes rolled back and heaving. The two Hoods rushed to aid him only to be tripped by a fan kick and a grab of the knee. They watched in horror as the potato sacks came off their heads. One man—blonde, piercing blue eyes…looked exactly like one of the ones they'd been tracking. Don Codd? Or something like that. The other to reveal his true identity was…well just an Asian looking guy. It took some rolling around but they were overpowered and given the chance to surrender. The second Hood introduced gave in…the first attempted to bash Kashi's head in with big rock so he shot him. Arthur stepped out from behind the tree and lugged the choking Seth onto his shoulder. Kashi took the cowering Brown and drug him. Eames ran up with a sacked Brown by his head with hands behind his back. The four men guided them into the next clearing where they gagged and tied them to the tree trunks. Yusuf and five others lined the way and guarded. The Chemist pressed his earphone, "Squad 6 we got the first batch for you." A slew of more Hoods were hauled in to be restrained and wait for the van to take them to the holding area for the authorities. And a few more gunshots rang through the air.  
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His voice sounded familiar. But like the familiarity was far off, watered down. Ariadne remembered it but what she remembered was through blurry eyes and cotton ears. A few gunshots sounded in the distance and carried down the tunnel to the Con Dig. The Hood's eyes cut to the direction of the hatch (she noted a twinkling of green) and then lifted his finger to talk into his communications device. "Grant?"

His finger popped off of the button. His head tilted. The Brown's hood slid off to display recognizable bone structure and well known expressions, "Red?"

Ariadne pulled hers off as well, "You're alive!" Her tone enthusiastic but hushed as she gave him a hug. Grant's gaze flickered and darted over her in disbelief (of her recovery and health condition she was sure). "And you're healthy…" his pleasant smile pulled into crinkled eyebrows, "Why did you come back here?"

They made sure no one had entered by glancing over Grant's shoulder before she allowed her reply, "We're tearing this organization down."

His eyes widened, "What? We? Your Point Man?"

"My team," corrected the girl, "and a few hundred troops from Saito Industrial." She didn't give him time to think or respond before she ploughed through into the next question she was sure was on his mind. Would he be ambushed as well? "I've told them about you. How you helped me. They'll spare your life and they won't turn you into the cops with the rest of the Hoods. Just please cooperate."

Grant shook his head, "No, of course. I want to help. What can I do?"

"We need to open the main hatch." The Brown's eyebrows rose in an "aha" moment. He pulled a card from inside his cloak. "You'll need this then." Ariadne handed it to Yossu while asking, "How did you get a U-Card?"

Grant smirked, "When Mac bit the dust I was 'promoted'…even though we don't do that here." The hood was pulled back over his head, Ariadne did the same. He whispered, "I'll go into the control room and play like I've found valuable information about your whereabouts. That'll get all the Blacks and important Browns out of your way. Just say when."

The first steps of Squads 4 and 5 were in the stairwell. Ariadne nodded to Grant, "When."  
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Ariadne had warned them all of the disorientation the all-encompassing black of the hideout would cause. That it would be unlike any darkness they'd seen before. Doing their utmost to keep up the pace, the men and women continued to blink and strain their eyes to acclimate. When Ariadne called it the hell hole she wasn't exaggerating. Since they were coming in through the hatch by the Con Dig, voices rang through the darkness. Tortured moans, half dead groans, calls for help, calls for mercy. Tormented souls begging for light. The only thing distinguishing it from Hades was the bone chilling cold. For once, the squads were thankful for the heaviness of their cowls because the lower they descended, the more frozen they became. Randomly, the tolling of a bell sounded like it was echoing through the tunnel. Sporadic. Clangs of metal and jingling. (When they found the end to the stairwell they would discover the sounds had been Yossu and Ariadne unlocking and swinging open all of the cells in the Dig.)

Squad 5 hit the ground running. As soon as their sights set on the long rows of hostages ready to be rescued they dived and jumped in to the closest P.O.W. they could get to and began hurriedly pulling them out of the pit and hauling them to the surface. When the squad headed by Ariadne's team hit the bottom, they readied for battle. Loaded their guns, mentally psyched themselves up. It was a delicate balance of time. They couldn't attack those in the dining hall and alert the rest of the brotherhood before the others squads were there to backup. They all needed to pour in simultaneously. Ariadne, Yossu and Grant were long gone from the Dig by then. Presumably all had gone according to plan because the rescue was going smoothly and Hoods weren't holding guns (or spears or whatever barbaric things they used) to their heads. Arthur halfway (who's he kidding. It's all the way) wished they'd made it down the hatch faster and he could've caught another glimpse of Ari. The night in the grass wondering where her and Yossu were and how things were progressing was a brutal one.  
xxxxxx

With the fabric pulled far down over her face, Ariadne and Yossu grabbed some grub and sat in the dining hall on the benches they could find closest to the tunnel to the main arena. They needed to give ample time to Grant to find anything he could tweak and fabricate into faulty but really solid sounding information and time for the Hoods it was imperative to avoid to make their way to the control room. The Architect closed her eyes and counted down from sixty when Ingams' voice—Oh God…that was Ingams inches behind her—sprinted into the dining hall hunted down Liv and another Brown and explained that they'd found Ariadne while pushing them out into the tunnel. _Five. Four. Three. Two. _Red stood, left the remains of the fish on the table (she hadn't actually touched it) and powerwalked down the tunnel with Yossu in tow.

When they reached the main arena, she slowed to a normal pace. Her arm crossed across her torso and her other hand held the side of her hood further over her face. They passed the panel table, the screens lining the walls, the control room (they held their breath strolling by) and with a look ducked into the cut out by the stairwell. Ariadne held her hand out for the card, "I see better down here. I can get to the top faster. Cover me." Yossu nodded and finally (he'd been waiting for permission to do so) took his gun out of his holster and cocked it. Ariadne's hand hovered over the railing while she hurriedly scampered up the long hatchway. At the top, she put the key in her mouth and hooked her arm around the top of the railing before she looked up. Her balance wavered momentarily but that's what her arm was wedged between the wall and rail for. Before anything she needed to know if they were all accounted for and ready. So knocked on the lid. Two even, three fast, three even. There was a beat in between and then she heard knocks back. Four fast, two fast, four slow. Cleverly, if you heard the rhythm…it was taken from the melody of the classic song 'Lil Red Riding Hood. From the first phrase of the first verse: _Hey there Little Red Riding Hood. _And the last phrase in the verse: _You're everything a big bad wolf could want. _A few phrases Ariadne had scratched into the sketches of her notebook. With confirmation, she swiped the card and held her breath.  
xxxxxx

Beep. Beep. Beep. Hisssssssssssssssssss. Click.

"Move out!" Dom hollered and led the large squadrons of men in his unit into the dining hall. People were being tackled everywhere. Left and right. The Hoods in this room were unarmed except for the utensils they used to eat with. Several of Saito's men suffered stab wounds from forks and knives. Several Hoods were executed and the two cooperatives out of the whole collection of them were taken up to the surface to be tied to trees. Tables overturned, dishes broke, there were yells and grunts and battle cries. A total of six Hoods escaped into the tunnels and sprinted to find and warn their founders.  
xxxxxx

Beep. Beep. Beep. Hisssssssssssssssssss. Click.

Wolffe pushed away from his position: leant on the desk, looking over Grant's shoulder. "Why is the main hatch opening?" See, the downfall of the main hatch was that it was programmed for every arena, box and tunnel to hear it's opening so they would never be caught off guard. He eyed Grant suspiciously and scowled at Liv, pushing past to the entry of the control room. In seconds, there were dishes breaking, yells, grunts, battle cries. A Brown stumbled into the main area, "Wolffe! We're under attack!" The Black's face turned red. He punched a large blue button and screeched into the speakers, "We're under siege! KILL THEM ALL."

He finished his sentence as a hundred men pooled in from the main hatch and a hundred flooded from one of the tunnels. At the forefront, was Red's Point Man glaring daggers at him. Wolffe cracked his knuckles and smirked. Gradually, his own legion of men and women filed out of the woodworks. He let his Hoods and Arthur's men create distance between them; let them collide and combat. It was inevitable that the last match be between the two of them. And it would be a fight to the death. Arthur wanted to slay him for what he'd done and Wolffe wanted to slaughter him so he could continue to do it. So as Arthur was pushed back towards the stairwell that connected to the hidden parking unit and Wolffe was crowded out and shoved near the stairwell of the main hatch, the two kept cool gazes on the other. Arthur with his chin held high. Superior. Wolffe with his head tilted down and jeering. Arrogant. Almost like the Prince and the Dragon from Sleeping Beauty with the thorns twisting around and writhing among and between them. There was no question:

_Leave her Point Man to me.  
Leave Wolffe to me._

But nothing in the rulebooks said their men couldn't rough them up for the other. Arthur was the first to be attacked of the two; a Black hurled himself from the back of the panel table to wrestle him. Then Bruce (who'd reveled in Arthur's injury too quick) was elbowed in the ear by a Saito Industrial (SI) soldier.  
xxxxxx

The Architect had pressed herself against the railing and let the squads pass her before descending back down. The chaos overpowered her ears when she was firmly planted on the bottom again. No use in backing down now. This was the very thing she'd trained for. That feeling you get when it's raining cats and dogs—when the bottom of the sky has fallen out and it's flooding the streets: It's nasty. It's anomie. You're either in the car: warm, toasty, dry. Or outside under an awning or under the shield of a porch: At least a little dry. You've got to brave it. You've got to get inside to class, or inside to work, or inside to meet someone for a cup of coffee that you're fifteen minutes late for. Or you've got to get into that car. Into your home. The drops are falling so large and so forceful a newspaper over your head would be battered to shreds and you've got no umbrella. Maybe on this particular day, your only saving grace is the hood on your jacket. You're positive that you'll most likely get soaked before you get where you're going but it's got to be done. So you pull the hood up (because if anything it's a comfort), take that deep inhale, wait for a break. Any break even if it's only a hindrance in the intensity of the downpour. Just before you throw yourself into nature's wrath you squeeze your eyes for a split second (hand on the door handle or foot taking a tentative step out and reflexively back)—you know it. You know that feeling. It's more complex than the word hesitation has the power to imply…

And so you know how Ariadne felt as she readied herself to join in the clash. A couple flexes of her hands and a bite of her lip and she was in the middle of the action. With her hood on, the other Hoods didn't expect her to lash out at them so she had the upper hand. Her first target was one that had an SI agent in a headlock. Swiftly, she threw a punch at him and he released his chokehold just as she desired but the SI agent punched her in the stomach next. Ariadne should've expected that, she was still disguised as a Hood. The cloak was shed quickly. There was no time for apologies and no time for forgiveness, just a glimmer of the agent's shock, before they were both hit from behind. His neck was snapped…she was lucky; she only received a knock at the back of her knees. Ariadne caught herself with her hands and swipe kicked the Brown woman. The problem with Ariadne was that she really only cared to defend and aid others in defending. So she left the Hood on the ground and pushed through the throng of flying fists. It was apparent that things were turning hostile quick. The Hoods objective was to maim and kill so as they pulled out knives and box cutters…her Team had to pull out their guns. The Architect passed Cobb, he'd been slammed against the dirt wall and barely avoided a knife to the throat by turning his head. Next thing she knew, she heard a gunshot and saw the Hood slump to Dom's feet. He'd just pushed off the surface as another vengeful man swung at him and one—"Ari!"  
xxxxxx

"Ari!"

The name was unmistakable even masked and drowned out by the din. Wolffe slit the throat of the SI man in his hold and searched the tops of heads. There. To his right. Maybe thirty people in his way. She looked good; appetizing. Healthily filled out again, hair as soft as he remembered. Ariadne looked as pure and deserving of his attentions as the day he was first brought her picture…or the day she first stepped into his domain…or the night he first visited her box. He relished in the thought of experiencing it all over again. Like new. Breaking her in and devouring her. Molding her, owning her, marking her (because the old brands on her skin seemed to have healed and concealed). Across the way, he pointedly looked over to catch her Point Man's eye. To let him know he'd discovered her. To thank him for delivering his prize right back to his doorstep. Arthur was a little busy balancing three of his men at once though. Wolffe couldn't contain his simper as he reached out his arms and physically parted the crowd to pounce on his prey.  
xxxxxx

The Architect twisted as Dom called just in time to sense a clobbering intended for her and to block a fist with her forearm. The man's other fist came from the opposite direction. Again, she blocked it with her forearm. The Hood tried again with his first fist (no imagination, this one) but she ducked, came up with her back to him, grabbed his wrist (which was now in front of them both) and flipped him over her shoulder. Cobb twisted his foe's arm behind their back and shot hers in the head for her. Ariadne stepped over him.

Reflexes are a beautiful thing and adrenaline has even more splendor. Our girl thanked high heaven that she was blessed and born with those impulses not only fully operational but in excess. And so sensitive. Because she saved herself before her brain computed she was in danger (or the conscious thought part of her brain. Obviously some section of it was functioning). It was like she blacked out and all of the sudden came to with her hands on a Hood's shoulders pushing them away, sucking in her stomach and contracting away from a blade thrust dangerously close to her abdomen. Thinking quick, Ariadne retracted her hands and did a fan kick with her left leg. She thanked heaven again when she succeeded in hitting the rusted weapon from her opponent's grasp. This one was ruthless—he encased her throat with his two hands and started to suffocate her. Really, slapping at his hands and expecting a release was something they would do in movies. Ridiculous. She reverted to the _other _thing a girl would do in a cheesy thriller and stomped his foot. And when that didn't work and she started to feel dizzy, she fell back on the old knee in the crotch trick and soon her airways were opened up again. The Architect learned extremely fast that this individual Hood was a hot head. A real Napoleon complex. And boy, did he pride his family jewels…his face twisted into something exacting and murderous (it was just a kick in the crotch…geeze…). Ariadne adjusted her stance to prepare for the next round. Except when the Hood's knuckles tore through the air towards her face, a hand captured them from over her shoulder and twisted until his arm made a sickening pop and his bone protruded. "She is mine alone to touch." The Hood whimpered and scampered back into the folds.

Ari, on the other hand, stiffened. The voice of the monster in her nightmares was breathing down her neck. She didn't have to turn to face him to see, hear and feel that leer in his greeting. "Welcome back, Red." His arms circled her waist. Already, her stomach started churning and bile building up. "I've missed you." The problem with Ariadne was that she really only cared to defend and aid others in defending…that was no setback here. For in six words, she'd never been more ready to kill in her life.  
xxxxxx

He'd fallen into a rhythm at this point. Arthur's precision had always been envied and though his roboticism and ability to put on a mask, feel nothing and perform like a machine wasn't…in this case, it served its unending purpose. He put Arthur away: the human, the concerned, the thoughtful. And he put on the Point Man: the machine, the focused, the severe. He head butted the man behind him so hard, his own nose began to bleed but the Hood was knocked out. He elbowed the one on his left in the sternum, ducked so the one he previously hit ended up punching his fellow Brown. While the second briefly touched his hand to his face in normal human reaction, Arthur snatched the knife from his hand swiped it clear through the air and across the one on his left's stomach. He came back across with it and rammed the remaining adversary on the top of the head with the handle of it. "Art! Art, come in!" Cobb screeched through the airwaves. Then, "Arthur!" shouted in a British accent. And after, "Mr. Nolan!" "Mr. Arthur." "Chief!" all flew in. He gritted, "What?!" back to whoever would answer. Eames' voice replied right away, "Wolffe's got Ari. Eleven O' Clock." The machine was gone and Arthur flooded back into his veins, into his brain cells. He scoured the pandemonium in the direction the Forger informed and found her. And _it._ He didn't hear the Englishman's, "I'm trying to pummel my way through to her." Or Cobb's, "So am I. It's like his minions are ganging up to keep us out of his way." Even his ears were connected to his tunnel vision. That thing's appendages dared to enfold Ariadne in his sickening hold. From meters away, Arthur could see her trepidation and her disgust while it hissed into her ear. She closed her eyes for a mere millisecond head butted Wolffe as the Point had just done to a Brown, then bout-face and shoved him away…Oh but he came back at her with a punch that made her nose bleed on contact and Arthur's vision bled red with it.

It was a rare and magnificent sight: When Arthur didn't sacrifice his passion, protectiveness and personal involvement to become his professional alter ego and when that same alternate man didn't forfeit his exactitude, steadfast concentration and determination to be the human, the man the ones he cared about saw. When the two—the best of the two—melded together into this one emotionally driven but clear cut, blade sharp, engine of a person…he decimated without looking or giving second thought. Like when you sing a song word for word while focusing on cooking or reading and then notice late that 'oh was I listening to that?' Some poor Hood had the gall to approach him and fling out an arm. Arthur whacked it to the side, picked up one of the wooden chairs by the paneled table and rammed the legs into the guy's middle. The seat went over his head and came down to break on a Black Hood's head. The Black went down among the parts of the chair, Arthur grabbed a broken off leg from atop the Black's leg, swung it across the returning Brown's face, stabbed the splintery broken wood into the Black who'd tried to sit up again until he felt the ground beneath, then pulled his gun and shot the Brown that would just not give up. He demanded into the earpiece, "Make a path for me. I need to get to Wolffe."  
xxxxxx

Ariadne closed her eyes for a mere millisecond, head butted Wolffe, then bout-face and shoved him away…Oh but he came back at her with a punch that made her nose bleed on contact. It hurt but she took it and attempted to cuff him back. He blocked it—he'd been in too many knock down, drag outs to be taken down by a little girl. She went for an uppercut with her other fist which he seized and turned her under so that she was in his hold again. His chuckle resounding when she struggled to flip him over her back as she'd done another Hood and he proved to be either too heavy or too grounded or too _ready_ for her. At the failure, teeth pierced hard into the side of Wolffe's arm by his elbow. A curse slipped from him and then—_She_ slipped from him.

The Architect rammed and bumped into other bodies, squeezing through and trying to put distance of any sort between them. To find Cobb or Eames or God…to find Arthur. Wolffe ended up not only (unsheathing and then) stabbing and taking out SI agents but his own brothers to clear the way to the girl. His (barely there) nails scratched the bottom of her shirt but captured enough material to get a better hold and pull her back to him. She elbowed his ribs or just below and he simply coughed. Punch, she blocked, punch, she blocked, jam on her pressure point with the butt of his pocket knife, she collapsed. He re-pocketed the knife.  
xxxxxx

She collapsed.

Arthur had reduced his defensive maneuvers down from blocking, kicking, punching, using others, elbowing and any other variation of his normal fighting style down to shooting whichever Hood stood in line of his sight of Ariadne. The Architect was still conscious, just disoriented from her momentary lapse of control from the hit. Her brain's faculties should've started working properly again any second. Before they had the chance, Wolffe slung her over his shoulder and jammed his way through the crowd to the furthest tunnel from the Point. Before she vanished in Wolffe's arms into the abyss-like entryway, Arthur saw her eyes widen, her functionality return and her balled hands pounding the beast's back.

**2 more chapters. Maybe three. I think just two.  
Arthur is getting so, so, so maaaaaad. Guys. Revenge will be sweet.**


	23. You're Immortal

Wow. Wow. Thanks for the response! And everyone really like the interaction between Cobb and Ari :) I thought it was pretty cute too. Anywayyyyys _Guest: _thanks! I really strive to keep them in character. _Lauraa-x: _I know right? I think Wolffe eyes everything like a piece of meat. Ew. And we'll see about Arthur's reaction…Thank you! _CoffeeFilters: _That's great! I really wasn't expecting anyone to like the Cobb/Ari moment as much as they did so that's awesome. And yes, Ariadne's determination is a nice thing to see for a change. And super duper thanks for reviewing the chapters you missed, that was sweet! I actually loved the Control chapter just because of the ending line so I'm glad you liked it. Pudding is good…I think Ariadne will relapse for it in time. Hahaha. _Birdy21: _Thanks mate! _Grace-xox: _no worries about wanting to stop. I figured a lot would. I suspect that's why a lot stayed completely away from it too but I'm so so so happy that it was able to win you over and make you keep reading. Thank you so much, you're last comment means a lot.

Special thanks to Story Favorite: _HelsoJediShade66 _and Story Alert: _Fanpire102 _

**Chapter 23: You're Immortal**

_Ariadne's flight from her first independent job flew in from Japan late the night before. Or morning before. Since she'd had weeks of stress and late nights on top of drastic time changes and jet lag, Arthur did his best to avoid waking her up and had let her sleep in to—well, almost half past noon. He's watching tv. They have a channel that runs old American shows with subtitles (for the French) and right now he's watching the block of Full House. In bounds Ariadne. He muses that she's the most endearing when she's just woken up. Before the snarkiness and sarcasm (that he loves don't get him wrong) sets in and she's pure sweetness and sleepy yawns. Her hair is a lion's mane of curls as a result of twisting it up into a messy bun all day and night he presumes. She shuffles over, "I've been thinking…"_

"_Oh dear…." He teases as she makes her way to the couch. Arthur makes a show of outstretching his arms and hers contentedly fall around his neck as she sits in his lap. "What about?"_

_She takes a deep breath and Arthur knows this is gonna be good… "You know how they do those car processional things at funerals? Where people turn on their emergency lights and everyone else has to stop for them while they ride around town?"_

_His eyebrows raise, amused, "Well they don't really ride around town; they're going to the funeral home…but yes." _

"_Well, when I die—"_

"—_Whoa-" Arthur sobers and blinks. He was expecting something funny, some kind of punchline._

"—_I don't want one of those. I want an actual parade with like floats and costumes," The Architect grins. Looking into Arthur's pupils like she can see the figurative parade reflected in them. _

_Arthur pans, he's so confused about whether this is a joke or not. "What?" Did he hear her right? Was _that _supposed to be the punch line? He wasn't getting it._

_Ariadne shrugs, "I don't want people to cry because I'm gone. I want them to fight over beads and moon pies." Then she jumps, mouth forming a perfect 'O' like she almost forgot something. Maybe the actual punchline? "And instead of a sermon, I want a live band. Personally, I would love for it to be Mumford and Sons but a lot of their songs are sad. So you might want to get a chart topper. Like Maroon 5 or Carly Rae Jepsen-'Call Me Maybe' is an extreme spirit lifter."_

_The Point is searching her eyes but all he can find is her staring back equally, waiting for reply. There is no glimmer in her eye that suggests she's deriving pleasure from teasing him about such things. No hidden smirk. Its genuine fervor for her ideas and Shit…she's serious. She's actually talking about this. Arthur creases his eyebrows, "What the hell, Ari. Where is all this coming from?"_

_Sighing, she moves off of him. Pulls her knees to her chest on the couch, faces him and explains thoughtfully, "I mean we all know it's bound to happen especially in our line of work. But my teammate's brother was assassinated while we were there for I don't know family rivalry or something. And I got to thinking about how sudden death can come…" Arthur's features started darkening the more she elaborated, "Neil from the Mankens job? Went kaboom out of nowhere. And Mal just woke up like that one day and—"_

"_What's your point?" He rushes to end the conversation as quickly as he can._

_Ariadne yawns and he swears she does it on purpose to make his heart clench at the thought of losing her. She tilts her head, "I just wanted to make sure that you know what I want. In case I go first." _

_Arthur's head shakes confidently, "You're not going to go first." He leans in and pecks her on the lips, "You're not going at all. Ever."_

"_But—"_

"_No. You're going to live forever. You're immortal. End of conversation." He gets up and scurries to the kitchen as if his movement in location and soon to be change of topic will be accepted. "Why don't we pack a lunch and go eat by the Eiffel? We haven't done that in a while." _

"_Yeah." She agrees halfheartedly and follows him. Arthur's already pulled out the cooler and condiments from the fridge to make sandwiches. He fishes around with his head stuck in the appliance and pulls out some macaroni shell noodles. He lets the door close and sets it on the counter in front of her, "I could make us some pasta salad with this. Would you like that?"_

_Ariadne pointedly rests her chin in her hands and declares, "I would like piñatas. Lots of piñatas." There's a brief second of befuddlement on his part but he realizes she's resumed the subject when she adds, "And I was thinking we could divvy up some money from one of my jobs and give all the guests cool gift cards as party favors." Arthur rolls his eyes and then acts like he's ignoring her. "And no one is allowed to wear black or they'll be pinched. Kind of like Saint Patrick's Day. I know it's a lot to take in so I wrote it down for you." Out of nowhere, a ripped out page of her sketchbook with doodles and bullet points on it is smacked onto the counter (proudly. Morbidly to Arthur) in front of him. _

"_You—" Arthur stammers and then pinches the bridge of his nose. He's not in the mood to handle this right now. Don't know when he will be to be honest. He's staring at the paper like its Hitler's list of ways of slaughter people. "You're planning your funeral like it's some kind of party." It sounds like a reprimand because that's what it is. The girl is blissfully unaffected by it, "A Bon Voyage—that's what I want it to say on the cake. See?" She pointed to a bullet point on the page. _

_The poor paper is balled into trash in his hands and it's tossed in the bin by the island. "Hey!" She protests. Getting up and fishing through the bin to pull it back out and smooth the wrinkles, "I worked hard on that! There's even visual aids." He's ignoring her again. Going into the fridge, pulling out bottles of green tea and chucking them into the cooler. "Come on, you know it sounds awesome. It's going to be so much fun!" _

_He pulls out four pieces of bread and starts squirting mustard and mayo on them, "You're talking like you're going to be there. Even if I did follow through with this crap, you wouldn't be here to enjoy it."_

"_Well…" her voice pitched, "Yeah. That's true. But at least people will sort of be excited to hear the news."_

_He deadpanned, "Excited? I'm not talking about this. I'm not going to help pick out a color scheme for your DJ Death Party…"_

"_Arthur, it's a natural part of life. You're going to die. I'm going to die."_

"_Stop." He starts fiddling with the food. Picking up this bowl but putting down, slicing one slice of tomato and then getting distracted and moving the bread. Just to move it back. He doesn't know what he's doing. "I don't want to think about your death. I don't want—I can't—I can't imagine losing you. It's—it would—Ari, I just—You're not dying," he sighs and, "What do you want on your sandwich?"_

_She must feel bad for it now. Because sighs too, drops it, and smiles at him sweetly sympathetic, "Turkey and Swiss." _

_Later as they are walking back with bellies full and cooler empty. With their hands entwined, joking and letting the afternoon rays of Paris kiss their faces Ariadne can't help but bring it up again. It's too forefront on her mind. She promises this will be the last time she brings it up for a while. "Contrary to popular belief…you can't control everything." Arthur looks down, askance. The girl clarifies, "When and how I'll die. You can't prevent it. It's sweet that you want to believe I'm indestructible but-"_

"_Can we please not do this again? I know all of that. I just lie to myself in order to avoid mental breakdown." She pulls his arm around her shoulders, "Fine then. You and I will live together happily to infinity and beyond and my plans can be for my millionth birthday party."_

"_That's more like it." He'll let her believe what she wants. Part of her reasoning with him is logical…death comes sudden. You can't always prevent it. He couldn't prevent his mother's beating, his uncle's car accident, his ROTC friend's shoot down, Mal's demise…but that just made him all the more determined to prevent hers. To be able to control what happened to her. He had to. Arthur couldn't live if she wasn't alive. "We'll be together to infinity and beyond." He repeated emphatically._

xxxxxx

Wolffe was having more trouble keeping hold of her squirming body than he had before. It was a minor boost of confidence for Ariadne. Proved that the training had benefited her. He didn't and _wouldn't _have complete control over her. It wasn't going to be as easy for him this time. As he turned the corner into the area of residents' boxes, her fingers clung to the corner. Fleeting and urgent, the Point Man's voice filled her ears, "Ariadne? Ari, wh—" Her body (already upside down and hanging on either side) was jammed between Bruce's side and the side of the corridor. Whereas her reflexes were praised before, she cursed them now. They had caused her fingers to involuntarily release her hold on the corner and as a result of the jarring, her earpiece that connected her to all assistance or advantage fell to the floor with a clank. Clawing after it was no good. Ariadne was high off the ground being hauled away and the headset lay stationary on the ground but it felt plausible at the time. His breaths picked up as did his speed of pace. His hand rode up-

The Architect booted him in the stomach. Luckily, the right amount of force was applied to the right spot to elicit a reaction from him. Wolffe's grasp _did _falter momentarily and his strides stopped. Ariadne's legs were swung around and she went from being carried like a sack of flour over his shoulder to how you would lug a log under your arm. Something flew out of her pocket—what, she didn't know but heard the _clack clack _of it skidding across the floor. Only then, facing forward, did she notice that he'd only stopped because he'd reached his box and they were going in.  
xxxxxx

Arthur managed to plough a path through the carnage. "Ariadne? Ari, where are you?" No answer arose from her side. The mobs were thinning out…When the wave of reinforcements of Saito's men came it was clear who the ultimate victor would be. Arthur, the Team and SI outnumbered the Hoods. The quantity of surrenders from the anarchists increased by fifteen percent but the Hoods had brutality ingrained into them. They were passionate zealots in the belief that their blood only meant something when it ran and mixed with their enemies'. Unfortunately, more than three quarters of them would mutilate, dismember and kill until they could no longer physically do so. But with the reduction in bodies to comb through Arthur made it to the tunnels. So he demanded to anyone else that could hear, "I need Grant. Get him to me." He jogged through and veered off into the first detour available...found himself in the medics' boxes. Arthur darted down the rows looking for anyone, listening for any sound, pulling back curtains, shouting her name.  
xxxxxx

As soon as the door opened, Wolffe chucked the Architect into the floor like a bag of trash and turned with his U-card out to lock the box on red. She'd caught herself on her elbows. While the situation and the throbbing in her forearms weren't ideal…at least he had no physical hold on her anymore. Ariadne saw the plastic card as he held it up to the scanner and it was like her entire imprisonment in those four walls flashed before her eyes. Every traumatic touch, every vivid memory that coincided with the scars on her body, every minute staring at the ceiling and wishing she were dead…

If she couldn't bend heaven, she would raise hell in order to prevent any of it happening again. Ariadne scrambled to her feet and caught him off guard. Her arm knocked his from its target destination, she kicked the back of his knee to make his stance waver than literally inserted herself between him and the door panel and shoved him away. If there was one thing Wolffe wasn't used to, it was _this _Ariadne. He'd grown so accustomed to her being incapacitated, weakened. He'd forgotten the woman she was before all this started. He'd forgotten she was once capable of fighting him back. So to say that he didn't expect it was accurate and that was how she was able to push him down like he had her. The Parisian punched her code once: **4259. **Twice: **4259. **And with a sweet, sweet rush the door slid open. Her feet didn't sprint but a step before arms encircled her waist and pulled her back. The metal shut again with a thud. Instead of casting her back like he had the first time, he hurled her to his side. Ariadne came down hard. Her breath knocked out as she collided with the floor between the foot of the mattress and the table he used to line her sedatives up on.

By name, Ariadne was a Greek goddess. She even had a crown in the constellations. By nature, she was a fighter. By suffering, she'd proven herself a survivor. By rigorous coaching, training and preparation, Ariadne had become a gladiator. Even as she coughed and sucked in air, the Architect slid herself behind him and whirled her leg around to cut his steps off. Wolffe's demise would come from underestimating her she was sure. He toppled face first and rolled over in time for her to jump on top of him and start pummeling with her fists. "You will never hurt me again!" She enjoyed three successful punches to his face until he sobered up and decided to take no shit. Her fourth attempt was thwarted by his forearm and her fifth froze mid-flight when he clutched it. "Your feistiness has always been a turn on…" Wolffe simpered in the process of seizing her other wrist and rolling them over to pin her down. Even before Yossu had instructed her, Ariadne had received various tips from the Forger, from her boyfriend, her mentor. The most common being: If they're bigger than you then use their weight and their force against them. So that's what our smart girl did. She harnessed the energy he asserted to roll them, briefly gave up all resistance and let it carry her back on top. The leg of the desk jolted as his shoulder hit it.

xxxxxx

"I need Grant. Get him to me."

Eames had just seen the lad. The boy had long tossed his cloak to the side and fought as one of the Team. He was distracted from his scan when one of his Asian friends, Kashi, warned him of a pending gunshot aimed his way. Almost gracefully in manner, The Forger (with both hands) grabbed the arm of a Black Hood in the middle of a tussle with one of his mates and slung him in front of him to take the bullets. Then, he took the box cutter out of his shield's hand before he dropped him, jabbed it in the Hood that Cobb had thrown into the wall beside him while simultaneously shooting his initial opponent. Since Kashi had lost possession of his firearm, Eames pulled the box cutter out of the body at his feet and tossed it to him. Returning his scan to the crowd, he spotted Grant relatively close to him; if he drew an 'L' starting from his location and ending in Grant's, Grant would be on the longer side. He recognized one of the SI soldiers fighting by Grant's side. Damn it would've been easy to be able to click his earpiece and speak to the former Hood but getting in touch with the man by him was second easiest he supposed. Eames ducked to avoid a punch and swivel kicked a Brown in the stomach, "Kai, behind you. Tell Grant to find Arthur ASAP." Arthur's voice boomed, "I'm where I assume the medical wing is…"

The Englishman could tell when Grant was informed when the bloke shot a look at the boxy looking hallways, flipped someone over his shoulder, ran the length of the table, landed and pummeled a Black into the ground and kicked off into a sprint down the first tunnel, firing two shots behind him at pursuers.  
xxxxxx

Her endeavor to pick up his shoulder and jut his head into the floor royally failed. The problem being that as she lifted him up, he took the opportunity to sock her in the face. His knuckles even made a cut on the bridge of her nose. No time to be a girl, no time to be human, no time to feel. Ariadne struggled to ignore the dull ache in her head—whack-he clobbered her again; this time sending her ear ringing with a cuff to it. Somehow, she found the strength to pull her shit together and impeded his next blow. Her elbow aimed to strike his forehead but ended up smashing into his shoulder ( which sadly had no effect on him). Next thing she knew, Wolffe had achieved flipping them both over by rolling back over his shoulder and Ariadne was regrettably pinioned to the hard ground. They had traversed all the way past the mattress. She could look helplessly (No. Not helplessly. _Never helpless again_) into the facilities where he hosed her down once a week with scalding water. "Tell me again, Red…" All of Bruce's weight seemed to sink into her as he sat on her stomach and made it difficult to breathe. Kicking with all her might, she couldn't get her leg high enough to strike him in the back of the head and pushing against the floor with her feet to move him off of her was futile. "Say that I'll never hurt you again…" Ariadne's mind raced with how she would get out of this one.  
xxxxxx

The Point Man assessed it was empty and scurried back into the main tunnel. Grant nearly bumped into him, skidding to a stop. Breathless, the former Brown heaved, "What do you need?"

"Where would Wolffe take her?"

Stupidly, there was a lapse in logic and he almost asked who 'her' was. Then…_Holy_…Grant's eyes expanded the size of saucers. And not the teacup kind, the flying kind. Bruce had gotten a hold of her again? He called over his shoulder as he raced towards the end of the tunnel and into the residential alcove, "His box! Fifth row over at the end."  
xxxxxx

The Architect's lip had almost been bitten through (again, this time by her own teeth). After deductive reasoning, she decided to give up struggling against him. Sourness swirled in the back of her throat when Wolffe made eyes and loosened his hold on her wrists. And as her hand was guided to make contact with him somewhere she didn't want to think about, her eyes squeezed shut. So many awful visuals painted the insides of her eyelids. It wouldn't last long…it would be worth it. Ariadne ground her jaw at his husky grumble, "You remember how, don't you?" Her other hand flexed and her body shifted beneath him. With all the hatred in the world, her eyes snapped open and glared at him. His were closed. Venomous is the closest word to describe the hiss that spouted from the Architect's mouth, "I hope you enjoy how this feels…" Surprisingly, her other hand (knuckle?) traced up him of its own volition. "Mhmm," moaned the beast. Her glare narrowed.

Pow. "AGHHHHHH FUCK!" Wolffe wailed and scrambled, flailed off of her onto his own back. He grunted angrily. Whimpered. Hovered his hand over the gunshot wound. Cussed. Writhed. Ariadne picked herself up off the dirt and smirked, "Because you'll never feel anything like it, ever again." Slowly, proudly, the gun leveled with his head. Wolffe inhaled and threw her one last glower before she pulled the trigger and

Click.

What? Ariadne's eyebrows crinkled. She jammed the bottom of the gun against her hand and aimed it at him again.

Click.

Simultaneously, their expressions switched. The Architect's face fell and eyes got bigger. The Hood's produced a grin. He was acclimating to the pain and finding a way to cope with it. Most likely due to his adrenaline—the one bad thing about adrenaline is that everyone has it. Panicky, the girl's hands patted her back pockets, her belt. Wolffe was on his hands and knees, recovering, attempting to stand. Several connections were made in her head at once. First…her extra clip was that object she'd heard fall. Second…it was in the hallway. Third…she needed that ammo. He was clogging the space between her and the door so Ariadne ran across the bed and sprang off of it. She landed face in the door. Never happier to run into a wall before. With surprisingly calm precision, she re-entered the code and freedom lay before her again.  
xxxxxx

The two men heard the screech of metal sliding against metal as they rounded the corner of the fifth row (the suited one in front of the other). Arthur's sprint accelerated faster and faster—near the speed of light—because at the end, out of the very last box ran the Architect. Her focus was on the ground as she loped. Grant was actually the first to yell for her attention, "Ariadne!" She froze for a second, made eye contact and then a larger, shadowed figure shot out of the same space and lunged for her. It snatched her by the shin; resulted in a face plant. Arthur pulled out his gun and shot at the Hood in the distance to no avail: he still wasn't close enough to target him properly. "Ari!"

Ariadne was dragged back into the box by her ankles. As it was happening, he noticed her arm reach out and barely brush a rectangle-ish object in front of her. It budged and she nearly missed it but grabbed it on the way in. The metal door slammed shut as soon as they came upon it. Grant whipped out his U-card but **BeepBeepBeep. **"Damnit! It's on red."

Ariadne had gone into detail about it with Arthur on that occasion after the pudding and bomb scare. She explained the difference between regular cards and universal, the significance of being 'red,' all for the jargon she used in her story to make sense to him. _If its locked on red, only the card that locked it can open it. _The Point crushed his skull between his hands, "He has to have a spare or a copy somewhere." Grant had his ear pressed against the door but the boxes were soundproof. (How else did by-passers not hear Ariadne's screams and cries for help when she was held captive inside one?) The former Hood began pacing. Watched his feet as they stepped. "I know he did some work with them after the first incident with Mila swiping one…I mean he's gotta have one for back up." He pointed to Arthur's ear, "If you can get someone into the control room, I can walk them through how to check." The Point obliged and whatever SI agent was closest jumped right in, he handed the communication device over to Grant.  
xxxxxx

Bruce yanked her back into the compartment, stepped over her and hastily swiped his U-Card. Then folded it and tossed it to the desk. Ariadne had clambered to get back up and pull him away from the scanner again but grabbed his shoulders an instant too late. He twisted around livid. He looked utterly incensed; his anger reaching the point when he blew steam from his snout and when he scowled, all she could make out was blackened eyes and bared teeth. Wolffe gripped her shoulders and charged backwards like a bull, pushing her and causing her to trip over herself into the closest side wall. The Architect's head banged against the wall in a blow that made her see stars.

The beast was passed the temptation, passed the lust for her flesh. At this point, there was one thing alone he craved and that was Ariadne's blood. Her life's fluid runny, red and metallic. Wolffe yearned to bash her skull in and rip her into shreds with his fingernails and make her pay for her disfigurement of his genitals, for her defiance, for her Point Man thinking he could take her away and tear his Brotherhood apart. If he couldn't force her to be his object of release, pleasure and sick entertainment than he could make her suffer and leave a sight for his enemies (her loved ones) they'd never forget. She would need that gun…but he? He could rip off her pretty little head with his bare hands.

Over and over, he persistently and continually slammed her into the wall with all his might. Ariadne's vision was filling up with dots and threatening to go black. Was her back colliding with the wall really making that sound? Or was someone banging on the door? Coherent thoughts were slowing, brain rattling but a bright idea did cross her mind. The Architect kneed him where he was most vulnerable: the crotch. The movements of Wolffe were so animalistic, she figured his mind wasn't the normal calculating and manipulative one it had been. (Funny how his reasoning became instinctual and faulty once she'd shot him…he _did _always think with that area. Where would he get his impulses and viewpoints from now? ) It brought back the wave of pain he'd felt when it first happened and gave Ariadne a respite to cradle her head and blink furiously. To focus. _Focus Ariadne. Get a grip. _Upon being tugged back in, the girl had lost hold of both her gun and new clip. So now, as he clutched himself and heaved and groaned she lunged for the gun, released the old clip and bent down to pick up and shove in the other. When her head came up she was face to chest with him and he'd pulled a box cutter from his back pocket—it swung at her throat.  
xxxxxx

"First computer you see. Password: evry1acntbl. Click Computer, Local Hard Drive H:. Once that's open go ahead and press Control, Shift and C at the same time. A translucent grey bar should be at the top of the screen, yeah? Good. Ok, in that bar type: , press the space bar and type the password again: evry1acntbl. What popped up?" Whoever was on the other side answered that a black box with green letters and numbers scrolling and filling the page. "You're awesome. Now, press Alt, Shift and P at the same time. It'll ask for username. Use UlySG. And password: 6141nrnc. It'll look like a normal program now. Find the search bar and look up Wolffe. With two f's and an e." Silence…the hacker bobbed his head from side to side waiting for an update. "What?! He's gotta be in there…search Bruce." The Point received a wary look but didn't register it, he was too preoccupied with beating on the door. "Search Bourgeois…no? Ok, Ariadne."

Upon hearing her name, Arthur tuned back into the conversation. Grant's puzzled expression of stupor did nothing for his nerves. "Try Red." Grant beamed, "Ah, thank God. Yes! Thank God. And thank you…good job." It sounded like good news, "He's got two activated U-Cards under 'Red.' We tracked the latest use to 2 minutes and 13 seconds ago. There's a copy. Problem is: where? I know he wouldn't leave it in the control room, nowhere obvious. Nowhere one of us could accidentally find it…but we all have access everywhere."

Arthur's Point Man brain began to grind its gears overtime. "_Access_," he repeated, "but is there anywhere not regularly frequented? Anywhere that may hold some significance or symbolism in regards to Ari?"

Grant snapped three times. Epiphany! Then started running again, enlightened over his shoulder, "The Dream Division's workroom! Her desk is still there."

xxxxxx

Automatically, the Architect's arms joined together and soared to create a shield in front of her neck and lower head. The price she paid was a nasty slash at the bottom of her right forearm and diagonally down her left. It was a cheaper price than getting slit in the throat and choking on her own blood would've been so she didn't complain. Next, her brown thermal was bunched up in his fists (the cutter dangerously close to her collar bone) and Bruce wrenched her around, picked her up by the material of her shirt (and the skin underneath) and flung her onto the bed. The gun and the clip went flying, bumbled across the surface and clattered on the floor behind her.

The lumps in the mattress, the shoddy stuffing coming out, the stains, the stench. The way the bed felt and the sensations it made her cognizant of…well she didn't have a break to allow much more reflection of it. Or to wallow in the macabre of the déjà vu this action gave her. Ariadne had to swiftly roll to one side to avoid the blade. Surely, her heart jumped and her toes tingled with the sound of it piercing cushion. He raised it up and stabbed down another time and The Architect rolled the opposite direction, nearly clearing it-even felt his knuckles brush her back when the knife-edge sunk into the bed. This would continue until he either succeeded in gouging her guts out or she took the situation and gained the upper-hand again. So when back on her back she decided to try out her concept: that if she struck up with her arm and hit his as it was going down it would knock the weapon from his hand or bump him weightily enough to throw him off course and give her a bit of room to wedge away from.

Well…it did keep him from reaching his ascertained destination but the power he'd asserted had made the blade slip and falter and the cutter thinly sliced across her forehead (from the arch of her eyebrow down to the temple). The blood from her arms was seeping into the mattress under her. She needed to wrap them soon. Ariadne's secret weapon worked like a charm. His crotch was the victim of another kicking. It gave her the chance to scrabble and crawl backwards across the width of the mattress—Wolffe howled but sent the cutter reeling and it closely grazed her pant leg. Ultimately, The Architect slinked off the bed, ended up on the ground on the opposite side, scrounged for her firearm and reloaded it by the time Bruce recovered and hustled to attack her again. Ariadne had stood and aimed the barrel of the gun at his head.  
xxxxxx

The two men bolted into the workroom. Grant lead Arthur to the back corner where her setup used to be. Another Dream team had been brought in but the furniture was all still the same. The Point and the Hood turned over chairs, pulled out drawers. Finally, Arthur flipped the desk over and there taped to the top was a U-card. He snatched it and the two sprinted back to the boxes. Breathless and worn out but they pushed through it, challenged their stamina.  
xxxxxx

The monster stilled about five feet from her, at _her_ mercy for a change. "You don't want to do that…" he lilted.

Ariadne steeled, cast a superior glare onto him, "Oh yes, I _really_ do." She took a hasty, jerky step back when he took a slow cautioned one forward.

Little did she realize, he'd done it to test her. Evaluate if and how she'd changed. Compute his options, estimate the real threat in her waving the gun around. "This isn't you, Ariadne." he smirked, "The old Architect would've looked for the good in me that could be salvaged. The real you is merciful, forgiving. One that doles out second chances. I have a problem…a sickness, really. Help me overcome it." The girl wasn't buying it; she was too fed up. So the Hood changed his tactic. Instead of appealing to her conscience (which was biased in the heat of the moment and high emotions), he would appeal to her pride. And her need to uphold it since he'd stripped her of it so many months ago. "I guess I've done it then…broken you." His shit eating, self-satisfied grin lit up his darkened features.

"You have _not _broken me! You can't break me!" screamed the Architect at the top of her lungs. Even shook the gun with her resentment.

"Really?" He chided. Except this time when he took a step forward, she fired a warning shot but missed him completely. It barely brushed his tricep. He continued, grunting, "Look at you. Just like me: Hell bent on revenge, threatening, a seeker and lover of violence. A killer."

"No…no, no, no," Ariadne's determined set of her jaw loosened, her face started to fall as she murmured to herself.

Wolffe crooned, "You—the old you- doesn't really want to murder me. If you did, I'd be dead. You're not built for taking lives." His hands tentatively raised above his head in a surrendering motion. His ugly, nefarious glower transformed into a hopeful gaze, "I'll be cooperative. You can lock me away forever and still live with yourself." The level of her aim faltered. He was almost there… "You're one of us whether you like it or not. Once a Hood, Red, you're always a Hood."

Ariadne's weapon gradually lowered. She whispered thoughtfully, "Yes, I suppose you're right…" Bruce's deep relieved breath came when her eyebrows crinkled, "I am a Hood." He nodded. Eyed the gun as it lowered to her side; the blue flecks began to twinkle the lower it got. He swayed back and forth on his feet. He didn't want to move too soon; he needed to judge how affected she was by the revelation. The girl's eyes fell downcast and she mulled over the taste of the words in her mouth again, "I _am _a Hood." It was as good a time as any to attack so Wolffe took advantage of her inner turmoil and charged forward at her.

Xxxxxx

Grant slowed to jog when they reached the residency arena again and let Arthur lope ahead. It was cartoon-like how the Point skidded to a stop, his feet sliding out from under him and then catching himself at the last second. He fumbled with the card and swiped it. His handgun was pulled, cocked and aimed by the time Grant caught up and the heavy doors slid open.

Xxxxxx

Two more chappies! What do you think Arthur and Grant will walk in on? Eeeep. Ariadne, why the hell would you let your guard down? It's the insecurities still, I guess.


	24. Even You

Big thanks to _Lauraa-x: _ yes, I'd never been happier to write something than I was when I wrote her shooting him in the crotch. Just because it's such a you go girl, maim the rapist moment…haha. _ Mbarca: _Yeah. I mean it's still gonna take a while for all of her insecurities from the experience to go away…but they shouldn't be as debilitating at this point either. So there's hope. Lol. _Birdy21: _hehe thanks!

**Chapter 24: Even You.**

Grant slowed to jog when they reached the residency arena again and let Arthur lope ahead. It was cartoon-like how the Point skidded to a stop, his feet sliding out from under him and then catching himself at the last second. He fumbled with the card and swiped it. His handgun was pulled, cocked and aimed by the time Grant caught up and the heavy doors slid open.

Immediately, Grant averted his eyes and slid down the doorframe. Pinched the bridge of his nose. Arthur shot the larger figure but it was no use…they were too late. In fact, the bullet he'd sent through Bruce's body did no further harm to him. He was already dead. His feet drug through the puddles. It was a predictable twist straight out of a movie: The obsessed psycho can't have the woman and will not allow anyone else the privilege so he waits for her minute of weakness, preys on her big gratuitous heart and kills the both of them in cold devoted blood.

Except on tv, they censor the gore somewhat. Blood was everywhere. The bed (_Oh God…had he—again? She'd had to endure that again?), _drops by the door, sprinkled across the floor. Like all of the blood in their bodies had been spilled out and emptied. Lying in the middle of the deepest puddle of it from which all the rivers trailed out (streams of it like the bathtub had overflowed.) was Ariadne. Cut up. Her neck was twisted away from him, like it'd been cracked. And a gory Wolffe lay on top of her, bloody mouth gaping open, claiming her neck. He rolled his die.

And horrifically, it landed how it should.  
xxxxxx

_Fifteen minutes earlier:_

Wolffe crooned, "You—the old you- doesn't really want to murder me. If you did, I'd be dead. You're not built for taking lives." His hands tentatively raised above his head in a surrendering motion. His ugly, nefarious glower transformed into a hopeful gaze, "I'll be cooperative. You can lock me away forever and still live with yourself." The level of her aim faltered. He was almost there… "You're one of us whether you like it or not. Once a Hood, Red, you're always a Hood."

Ariadne's weapon gradually lowered. She whispered thoughtfully, "Yes, I suppose you're right…" Bruce's deep relieved breath came when her eyebrows crinkled, "I am a Hood." He nodded and eyed the gun as it lowered to her side; the blue flecks began to twinkle the lower it got. He swayed back and forth on his feet. He didn't want to move too soon; he needed to judge how affected she was by the revelation. The girl's eyes fell downcast and she mulled over the taste of the words in her mouth again, "I _am _a Hood." It was as good a time as any to attack so Wolffe took advantage of her inner turmoil and charged forward at her. Ariadne ducked out of the way and satisfactorily watched him collide with the wall. By the time he'd turned around, her fire was back in full throttle. She shot him in the shoulder. Originally, she'd aimed for the heart but the man had spun too quickly and it was thrown off. Ariadne screeched, gun menacingly pointed back at him, "You will _never _touch me again; You will _never _hurt _anyone_ again." The Architect shot his other shoulder when he dared to flinch like he was going to move towards her again. "You know why?" She shook the weapon at him.

Wolffe made the unwise choice to leer at her. So she shot his foot. Her face was stone cold; it had taken over the mechanic mask of the Point Man's. The Black Hood folded over, eyes closed and grunted. He wouldn't speak so she did it for him. "Because I AM A HOOD." Ariadne's intonation dropped several octaves to a point where she didn't sound like herself anymore. Her knuckles whitened on the handle of the gun. Her teeth gnashed against another…"And what do we do?" The Hood wouldn't lift his upper body and answer her. His opposite knee cap was blown to smithereens to satisfy her ever-growing and angered impatience. Wolffe dropped to his knees. "Come on, Black, _for the good of humanity _what do we do? Commandment number one," barked the girl like a sergeant. The words she was looking for from him had been force-fed down her throat and now they rose up and spilled out like vomit. Ariadne snatched his chin and lifted it, squeezed it as hard as she could, tried to make him aware of the way it felt to be afraid someone cracking open your skull. Now he was the one who had to look up at her. To beg her to stop. To close his eyes and count down from one hundred. To be scared. To feel worthless. Sardonic and spiteful, the barrel of the gun ground into his temple. Infuriatingly, besides swallowing back pain, his expressions revealed nothing else. No remorse, no fear, no guilt. No reaction at all. Simply bemusement.

The Architect thought she'd had everything under control. That she had the upper hand because she had the gun. But then a terrifying, sharp, shooting pain ripped into her leg and the girl realized she had been sorely, sorely mistaken. And he had been sorely, sorely underestimated. Another commandment of the Hoods was the belief that their blood was only valuable if it ran with the blood of their enemies. Well Ariadne made him bleed…and had forgotten Wolffe was in possession of a box cutter to retaliate with. As fast as the blade entered her, it yanked out. The guttural cry that went with it couldn't have been helped. The confidence Ariadne was filled with earlier went out with hot air as she tumbled down to the ground, clutching her thigh. The slices in her arms reopened as she scrabbled on her elbows to crawl back as far as she could from him. Wolffe had a high tolerance for pain—she gave him that—because he forced himself to stand stagger towards her. He used the bed and the desk as crutches to propel him along. Ariadne deduced that Bruce planned to drive the cutter down into her from all the way up there. And with the force he would have once he let his legs give out, it would be fast and it would hurt if not maim or kill her. When he lifted his arms above his head with the weapon, his shadow loomed over her. His very being towered over her just like it used to. On instinct, she winced. Then there was a split second of déjà vu. And she reminded herself that if there was one thing Ariadne promised herself going into this, it was that Bruce Wolffe would never hold a position of superiority or dominion over her again. The Architect would never lay in fear of him again. She would not give him the satisfaction. The gun flew up like it had a mind of its own. And Ariadne shot him once (in the stomach). Her eyes steeled, she radiated hatred and answered what he hadn't minutes before, "We hold everyone accountable."

She fired a second time. A third because she didn't believe he would die. A fourth time (the cutter fell useless). Fifth. Sixth. Seventh. Eighth, ninth, tenth, eleventh, "EVEN YOU!" Twelfth, thirteenth. Fourteenth. Fifteenth. Sixteenth, Seventeenth. (his striking blue eyes rolled back and his mouth filled with red). Eighteenth. (His body dropped back to his knees) And just to make sure he was really gone a nineteenth bullet went through his forehead and on the twentieth, when his chest collided with her outstretched gun, her last bullet tore through him and splattered her face.

She'd done it. Little Red slayed the big bad Wolffe.

The Black Hood went limp and collapsed dead on top of her. The body leaked out life fluid from the many, many holes she'd marked him with. His eyes were unseeing and yet as they lifelessly stared at her she still felt vulnerable, like he could still look straight through her. So Ariadne turned her head away and his bleeding mouth slopped onto her neck. She mustered her strength and tried her best to move him off but his deadweight was too heavy and to add to that, her wounds weakened her. The Architect grimaced and squeezed her eyes closed. Her boys would find her. They would come and get her eventually. Her team and Grant wouldn't leave without her. But even with that bright light of optimism, she could feel her clothes being soaked, the pool collecting around them, seeping out of his orifice and dripping down her neck, coating her hair-_100, 99, 98, 97…._

She got to sixty one when-**Beep. Hiss. Click.** The heavy doors granted access and the thud of them sliding open announced the presence of someone. A loud gunshot ricocheted through the box and the figure on top of her budged. Ariadne should've made some sign of life but was too immobilized by her surroundings. Too in shock of what'd she'd done and what she was lying in. First, she heard the tinkle of plastic. Then, "No…no…not again…" Arthur. It was _Arthur. _And by the sound of it, he thought she'd been killed. Who could blame them, it certainly looked that way. His voice cracked uncharacteristically. Ariadne needed him, needed to see him. So she mustered the courage to move while she listened to the sound of his shoes slosh through the streams to her.  
xxxxxx

The Point Man strode to the two bodies, "Please, no…" His heart and his feet stopped. His breath hitched in his throat. Ariadne's head slowly turned toward him. Eyes wide, blood spattered face, shell shocked. Relief flooded through him, "Thank God." As the universe around him slowed, his actions sped up. Arthur knelt and shoved Wolffe so that the body rolled off and away from her. Next, he pulled the Architect into his lap. Ariadne was bloody head to toe…clothes drenched in it, hair dripping like she'd been in the shower, dried on her gaping face. There were visible gashes in her forearms and on her forehead when he surveyed but he hoped she didn't have a fatal wound anywhere else because he couldn't make out anything for all the crimson. Grant was crouched not too far from them asking questions but they were drowned out by the heartbeat in Arthur's ears. The Architect didn't seem capable of doing much else than staring into Arthur's reassuring brown orbs and breathing heavily but she figured she'd better answer when his inquiry sounded urgent, "Did he stab you anywhere else…?"

"J-" the girl started. It was difficult to form words and get her vocal chords to cooperate. Her head shook to clear a pathway for her thoughts. She answered with a hand hovering over her thigh and a restrained whimper, "Just my leg." Arthur then addressed Grant and told him to get a medic (Yusuf preferably) in to wrap her wounds, give some shots and the like. He shed his jacket and swathed her in it. Next, the Point Man ripped the bottom of his sleeve, folded the material and pressed it to the hole in her leg. She was still stuck in a daze but jumped at the pain.

Pain felt good. It reminded her she was alive. She could've very well been brutally stabbed to death. Or choked. He could've dismembered her and kept her there forever. It was a very, very, very, close call. And the realization of that—

Arthur's gaze never left hers and bit by bit he saw the haziness clear from her features as the reality of what she'd just been through and overcome sunk in and took residence in her mind. As the adrenaline wore down. Arthur noticed the subtle changes: Her features condensed, her chin quivered once, her fingers dug and clenched and pulled at the collar of his shirt. Her focus flickered from him to Wolffe. Back to him. Tears started to fall. The Point hugged her and she clung to him like their lives depended on it. Murmuring, he smoothed her blood-crusted hair, "It's over. You're ok, baby. You never have to worry about them again." Half of it was for her sake and half was for his. They'd eliminated the threat. The Hoods had been overthrown and their other branches worldwide would have their information leaked so they could no longer work under the radar. Ariadne's tormentor was dead. The Team's operation was successful. He knew all of that but he had to keep repeating it over and over to assure himself. Because he'd almost lost her again and he had to remind himself constantly that he hadn't. "It's all over, Ari."  
xxxxxx

They stayed like that until the rest of the infiltration tied up into a pretty bow and Grant had gone to guide the other three boys to the box. When they walked in, Ariadne shifted around to where her back leant against Arthur's chest and she sat between his legs. "Damn…." Eames cussed at the inhumane amount of blood as they stepped into the gory scene before them. Yusuf brushed passed them with a kit they'd swiped from the Medic boxes on the way. While Eames gawked at the scene, Cobb knelt by Yusuf and placed a hand on Ariadne's shoulder, "You ok?"  
She nodded. The Chemist cut and ripped a hole of workable size in her jeans where the stab wound was. He winced, "That looks nasty…but it seems to have already started clotting ok."

There was really nothing Ariadne couldn't take by now but she still hissed when Yusuf's gloved fingers pressed about on the edges of the lesion. Arthur informed the man that it had clotted because he'd been pressing some cloth to it. Simultaneously, Yusuf asked if the blade had been dirty or rusted and stitched it up real good (Ariadne grabbed Arthur's pant leg and squeezed to keep from groaning) before beginning to wind the bandage around. The Architect had to wait until it was over to reply without strain. "I didn't get a good look at it. But it was an old box cutter…" Cobb grimaced and empathized, "Ouch." Then the Extractor offered to finish wrapping the wound while Yusuf rummaged in the kit to pull out a needle and a vial. "We'll give you some of this just in case then. And I'll set to work on your arms and forehead."

Meanwhile, Grant leant up against the doorway and watched the procedure. Eames perused the crime scene. If the copious amount of blood in that large pond on the floor wasn't a dead giveaway than the sprinkles and handprints of it in other spots were. Out of curiosity, the Forger observed the room and tried to mentally picture the struggle she'd gone through (and freakin survived). There were even spots of blood on the bed. He looked up to his right and stilled—he had to squint because of the faint lighting and because it had dried and faded but the message was clear as day: 'They Are Mine.' It hit him abruptly that this was the room they'd seen on the screen however long ago. Chills sent up his back when he realized this is where she had been kept and raped and tortured all that time they were safe in the hotels looking for her. The Englishman rounded the room again and determinedly sloshed through the puddle to the monster on the ground…still bleeding out. As he should be. He kicked him over to see the damage she'd done him as opposed to the damage he'd done her and was flabbergasted. Only because Ariadne had entreated that they all spare lives and be as merciful in what killings they had to commit. He expected maybe three shots. Maybe he'd fallen on his own box cutter. Nope, holes in the wolf, everywhere. The head, the chest, the shoulders, many in the stomach, a knee, a foot, his crotch (he smirked at that and hoped it was the first place she aimed). "How many times did you shoot the son of a bitch, Ari?"

It had taken little time for Yusuf to stitch her arm. Only one of them needed it, the other was fine with a bandage. And the laceration on her head only needed two stitches at the deeper section by her eyebrow. The Chemist was finishing up, dabbing a cotton ball of alcohol along the slice on her head when Eames asked his question. The three huddled around the Architect were taken aback by the factual, robotic, unaffected tone, "Twenty." She held no more fluctuation in it than Arthur would. No one replied. In the silence, she declared almost flippantly, " And not enough."  
xxxxxx

She found another box to rinse off in. Or rather they suggested she find a different one to use. They wouldn't exactly let her on a plane looking like death itself. Cobb had fetched a change of clothes from the bag her and Yossu had packed and shared on the trek over and laid them on the mattress for her to change into when ready. Body squeaky clean, hair dripping with water instead of Wolffe's vermillion, Ariadne emerged from the random box in skinny ankle length denims and a comfy old college t-shirt. Grant was waiting for her. The rest of the team was helping load the last grouping of Hoods into a van and waiting for the SUV to come and pick them up. The former Red and former Brown strolled through the tunnels leisurely. Enjoyed the sense of liberation that was unnatural in the underground lair. "I didn't see it go down but that was incredible, Ariadne."

The Architect pulled her eyes down from the skylights and looked at him, startled. "You called me 'Ariadne.'"

Grant's eyebrows rose with amusement, "Well it _is _your name." The hacker knew what she meant. It was unusual because like the rest of the Brotherhood he'd always called her by the color of her cloak. That seemed wrong now. Unfitting. He shrugged it off. "You know, you did what a thousand Hoods have always been afraid to do. You stood up to him for yourself. You held him accountable."

The girl chewed her lip thoughtfully but made no motion of her head. Funny- her silence seemed to agree with him. Her hands shoved into her pockets, "I was first interested in joining the Dream Division to help you all find a better alternative. A way to stand for your beliefs, make the world a better place and give companies what they deserve without such drastic measures. To solve problems without spilling blood. And look how we've—_I've_- solved mine."

"That was necessary." He was given a leveled look and reworded, "Maybe _twenty _bullets weren't necessary but someone had to stop him."

"Oh, I have no qualms about Wolffe. He deserved it. I vowed to do that the day he killed my baby." Grant's steps pithily faltered. He'd had no idea she was pregnant…Rusty told him she suspected so. He regained his footing in time with her resuming her monologue and as they stepped into the main arena to head for the hatch. The dead bodies were lugged and lined up against the walls. Grant looked to judge the Parisian's reaction. She seemed disgusted with the number, the method or both (it couldn't have been the blood because she'd laid in more than that in that box). But after a hard swallow, she focused her eyes on the stairwell. "Look at the all the people that have died for a cause related to me. Not just the Hoods and SI agents today but Kenji, Brannon, Rusty, the Maus'…." (she still didn't know about the bombing of her Team's hotel and the showdown in the parking lot. How Mac had died, how many Hoods were slain that day, the innocent hotel patrons that suffered. It was an unspoken agreement of all the men not to tell unless asked specifically though.)

Up the stairs, the two went. It was easier with the door wide open and the light streaming in and showing the way. "None of the Hoods that died because of you were blameless. All the good-hearted ones didn't want to fight; they're alive and you've arranged a merciful way out for them. And Mila wanted to help you. She knew what she was doing and she knew the consequence. You represent every innocent the Hoods by means of Wolffe have wronged and tried to destroy. And you represent all those the brotherhood would've destroyed if you hadn't brought them down today. You _have _saved lives. The millions of lives that would've been targeted in the near future."

Grant made it out first and reached back down to help pull her out. Ariadne didn't let go of his hands. She yanked him into a meaningful hug. She squeezed and squeezed and rose to her tiptoes before she let go. "I never thanked you for saving mine."

Arthur glanced over from his place by the truck. He'd been informing the authorities of what they'd found and where they could find more information about the Hood Organization in the control room. Ariadne and that Hood were hugging…

"I'd like to think we're sort of family. Not because of the Brotherhood but—you know what I mean. We've been through a lot. You and Rusty and me," the Hood's smile was boyish. Understanding.

The Architect nodded. Cobb called them over to get in and head to the airport. The Architect pulled Grant's arm around her shoulders in a sisterly manner and they trudged to the truck. Back in the day, right after the job she'd been hired for, when her and Mila and him had first formed a clique and hung around—this was how they would walk to and fro. His hands on their shoulders. Sort of protectively because of the way their Forger and Point had been killed. Despite him still being rough and Hood-minded in that time, his conscience pulled at him and he felt bad they'd had to watch it. He was the only one left they really knew and though a Brotherhood the Hoods could be malicious to one another.

Arthur took it differently. How else would he have taken it? It wasn't that he was jealous, though. In all honesty, he was happy for her if sad by his own standards. Grant was exactly the person she needed after this experience. Someone else who lived there, who truly understood. The Point Man approved of the Hood. It was clear to him that Grant genuinely cared about Ariadne's well-being and he would be protective of her. It was also a plus that she felt comfortable with him. Arthur creased his eyebrows but nothing more and focused back on his conversation.

Anyways, some SI agents and authorities jogged past them and into the hatch to collect the bodies or destroy their databases or the like. Ariadne climbed into the truck after Grant. Eames was in the passenger and Yusuf and Cobb in the back. Now, they simply waited for the Point Man to join them so they could head to the airport and go their separate ways. The feelings of a job well done buzzing in their veins.  
xxxxxx

**Next chapter: **Ariadne and Art's last convo. Issues hopefully (most likely) resolved. How about Wolffe's death? In truth, I always knew I wanted Ariadne to be the one to kill him. I never wanted Arthur to torture/injure/dispose of him. I wanted it all to be Ariadne because of what she had to go through. I wanted her to stick up for herself and stick it to him.

Please, please review. I just want to break 100 before the story finishes :) And then I'll give Ariadne a happy ending, wherever she ends up! A fluffy ending to make up for all the darkness.


	25. You Know

**Chapter 25: You Know.**

Saito had met up with the authorities to explain his motivation and the details of the operation so they could figure out how to tie up the loose ends and shut down the Hoods worldwide for good. Grant had to accompany him so his release could be negotiated. After all, he was still considered one of the Hoods so Saito had to pull some strings and work his magic. After giving their statements to the authorities the Team hightailed out of there before the news crews got a hold of them. Cobb had said his goodbyes on the ride over for he had booked a flight that morning to meet up with Miles and the kids in Colorado before traveling home to LA. "_Come see us anytime, Ari, the door is open." "Thanks Dom, that's sweet of you." "I mean it. If you ever need anything-even if you're just bored, call and say I'm coming for eight weeks and fly on over." "I will, I will." "Take care of yourself." "You too." They both put their index and middle to their eyes, then pointed them at each other again. He hugged her when they all hopped out of the car._

Meanwhile, Arthur and Ariadne stood in line for tickets beside each other. There were four or five customers ahead of them, Yusuf being the sixth who'd just finished paying. He stopped by them and shook Arthur's hand hurriedly, gave Ariadne a hug over the stretchy line barrier. "The only options I had for Mombasa were tomorrow at 10 am or in eighteen minutes so I've got to run." The two ok'ed understandably. The Chemist grabbed both her hands, "You are incredible. I am _so _glad we pulled it off and those people are done for. Keep in touch, alright?"

"I will," she beamed and then ushered, "Go, go." Yusuf scurried off. He always made her laugh with his dorkiness and awkwardness. Even though she knew she possessed those qualities as well. The line moved up and Arthur went ahead and pulled out all the information from his jacket pocket. His hand held out toward her, "I need your passport and ID to get the tickets."

Her mouth opened, she looked at his outstretched palm hesitantly, "I can get my own."

Arthur's hand tilted in lieu of a shrug and pocketed itself, "If you prefer but purchasing separately would make it difficult to sit by each other. That is kind of half the point of my escorting you back to Paris."

The air was awkward all of the sudden. Why was the air awkward? Ariadne rubbed her palm on the back of her neck and aimlessly glimpsed around at the people around them in line. The cars pulling up and dropping people off. The busy businessmen hussling about and checking their phones. Finally, she bit the bullet and said what was on her mind, "I think you should go ahead and go where you planned. I'll be fine." When Arthur turned his head a fraction like he was going to say something, she ploughed onward. "I have enough money to stay in a hotel for a while. Miles will be home soon enough to help me straighten out the school crap. I have him and Edith to help me look for an apartment—"

"-Your stuff—"

"I called. They haven't auctioned it off yet. I can get it out of storage. And if I need anything, Eames is going back to London; he'll only be a train ride away. Really, I don't need you. Thank you so much for everything you've done." It wasn't bitter. It was actually bordering cheery and assuring.

The line moved up. Arthur was at a loss. He was actually using the excuse of helping her get set back up to prolong his time with her. There were several things he could've said. He could've asked if she was sure. He could've protested. But in the end, "Is that what you want?"

Ariadne paused for a beat then met his gaze and nodded decidedly. "It's pointless to drag it out." So she knew his ruse…"It'll be tough either way but saying goodbye sooner will be easier."

The Point straightened, "So this is it, then?"

"This is it." The Architect hugged him close and naturally his arms enclosed around her back and he rested his chin on her head. "Goodbye, Arthur." She kissed him on the cheek, then she turned around as the line moved up; she was one away from her turn now.

Wait. A hug? A hug and two words? "That's all?" He questioned the back of her head.

Ariadne regarded him over her shoulder, "What's left to say? Everything's been said."

The Point Man wanted to grab her hand but resisted the urge. Instead, he adjusted his stance and the hold on his bag. "We can't part on a hug and two words."

"You didn't say 'Goodbye Ariadne' yet…We could part on a hug and four. Plus, there was a kiss in there—on the cheek but what do you expect?" She smirked. God, she had that way of making everything lighthearted and frothy. But the sensations in the pit of his stomach weren't lighthearted and they weren't frothy…his eyebrows started to crease. The Architect sighed and rotated her entire body to face him again, "We know where we stand. We know how we feel. Just accept my goodbye. It's genuinely heartfelt, I promise."

No, everything hadn't been said. The girl wanted to tell him so many things. Thank you: but he knew she owed him her life. He knew she was eternally grateful. I'll Miss You: the fact that saying goodbye was problematic said that in itself. Come Back To Me: except she had already beseeched him to do so. No use in repetition. No use in another fight. I'm Sorry Things Happened This Way: he'd said himself he wished their dynamic was different. That it would be easy to live together. That they didn't have such distorted views of the way the other felt and stubbornly wouldn't accept otherwise. Arthur didn't need her to tell him that. I Love You: well…

He had a deep, raw need to say something more than goodbye. Anything. So many things. Perhaps explaining again—examining together—how and when and where and why their relationship came to this. To an end. To a hug and four words in line for the ticket counter at the airport. Maybe telling Ariadne he still wanted her in his life, he wanted to remain friends. In the most sincere of intonations and sentiments. Possibly sending well intentions with her. Apologizing for enforcing this, for thinking he knew what was best. When, if he was honest with himself, he wasn't so sure _what _was best for anyone anymore. He wasn't sure of much of anything except the growing emptiness feeding on him. Except the fact that although they had to part ways and live two lives instead of one…he still loved her so much and if they never saw each other again and she didn't remember anything else of the Point Man, he wanted her to remember _that_. Arthur opened his mouth.

"Next." No. No. Shit. His mouth clamped shut. Ariadne had been waiting for him to choke out what was on his mind and he still hadn't the courage to do it. On her way to the counter, she smiled at him with politeness and—_finality._ As always, he was stone on the outside and battering winds of turmoil on the inside. "Hi, I need the next one way to Paris, France. The Charles De Gaulle Airport." He was honed in on her words whereas the other woman's got drowned out. "Ariadne Bourgeois. A-R-I-A-D-N-E, B-O-U-R-G-E-O-I-S. February 21st, 1990." The Architect obligingly handed over the required paperwork. The lady studied them and typed to make sure they matched then handed them back and asked about luggage, "Just one carry-on." Since there was no luggage to be weighed, the clerk gave the girl the total and went to swipe her card when Arthur was called into the desk next to her.

"One way to—uh—" His mouth formed the beginning of a P before he was aware, "to…" Ariadne wouldn't look at him. "New York. USA. Preferably JFK. Arthur Beck," (alias number four if you were wondering), "November 10th, 1985." Instead of having to fish for them like the Architect, Arthur had the papers in hand for the woman to scrutinize. In the stillness, waiting for the ticket lady to finish looking at them and type in the necessary information, he looked at Ariadne. She felt his eyes on her, must have because she returned the gaze, eyes just beginning to water. The girl put great effort into offering him a fervent smile but couldn't hold it. Her clerk came back with her card and had her sign, "Thank you, Ms. Bourgeois, have a safe flight."

"Thanks." Arthur observed her diligently as her head started to come back to him, but she stopped it, swallowed and let the next customer come forward. His head turned with her, followed her as she moved. Ready to say something, always ready but falling short. She was past the long line of ticket patrons and diving into the sea of passengers, "Ariadne w—"

"Ok Mr. Beck, do you have any luggage that needs to be checked?" The Architect stopped in her tracks and turned just enough for him to see her profile. Her eyelashes blinked visibly even from so far away…she wasn't sure if she'd heard her name or not. "Ar—"

"Mr. Beck?"

The guy behind him complained, "Come on man, we got a lot of people waiting here."

Arthur apologized profusely and focused back on the employees last few questions, "No, a duffle and a briefcase to carry on."

The Architect pivoted all the way around to see if Arthur had said anything. Unfortunately, his body was wholly facing the counter and crushed her hopes. She pulled her carry on tighter over her shoulder and found a break in foot-traffic to jump in.

"Credit or Debit?"

"Credit." Arthur rushed and tossed her the card without even looking at her. Instead he shot his eyes back to the spot Ariadne had been standing and she'd vanished. Scanning the crowd thoroughly, The Point Man saw her brunette head bobble on her way into security. Then she bumped into a familiar looking Forger.  
xxxxxx

"Well hello there, stranger!" Ariadne fell into step behind Eames in the long security line. Luckily, the pace was quick moving today and he was able to present his boarding pass, passport and id to the guard before passing. After Ariadne had done the same, she met up with him by the x-ray tables while he was taking off his blazer and replied, "God, remember the last time we went through security together? In Holland?" she giggled, pulling up two of the plastic containers. Ariadne dumped her backpack in one, took out the Ziploc of pain meds and anti-infection cream Yusuf insisted she bring with her and set it to the side. Eames had laid his duffel on the conveyor and pulled out his laptop to put in a separate container with his jacket. Reminiscing and joking, "Never forget it. Seth was a bastard, I loved watching him squirm."

The Architect stepped out of her shoes and placed them in the box while Eames simultaneously undid his belt and slipped his loafers off to place them in the box too. She waited for him and until their belongings went into the machine to head over to the metal detector. You always have to be careful in airports, startle them with the wrong words and you'll be escorted out and banned for life. So she murmured, "It was entertaining…but we could've just snuck some unclaimed fluids or a nail file in his bag. Not a pocket knife."

The TSA agent waved for Eames to pass through. He was clear. Ariadne walked through, clear. She received some suspicious looks because of her head and arm wounds but she was used to that. She came home from jobs roughed up all the time. Once she was back at his side, collecting their baggage and throwing everything back on in that rushed manner, he chided, "Or given him the knife and not pickpocketed his weapon release form. But where's the fun in that?" She adjusted the straps on her backpack while he fastened his belt and with one final check if everything was back in place, they strolled out into the hustle and bustle of the terminals. Fortunately—or unfortunately—the two didn't feel the stare of the Point Man who stood anxiously waiting to pass through the metal detector.

It was natural that they gravitated towards the flight directory to see which gates were in what terminal and who had to take what train or if the plane would be on time. Eames squinted at the screen and then down at the pass in his hand. The Forger's flight wasn't on the board as of yet and judging from the expression on Ariadne's face, hers wasn't either. "When does your plane board?" She plucked her phone from her pocket to check the time, "Ugh…two and half hours. You?"

"Six." He'd examined his watch while she'd looked at her phone because he anticipated the reciprocation of questioning. "What say we procrastinate our farewells for a spell and grab some grub? I'm positively starving."

Ariadne agreed enthusiastically, hopping on the moving sidewalk (and standing to the side so they could ride the length of it without being in the way) and browsing the map she picked up for restaurants. Eames peered over her shoulder, "Should we wait for your bodyguard?" His hazel eyes met dark brown ones while the Point handed the security his weapon release form and shrugged his jacket back on.

"He's not coming with me." Impatient, she handed the map to him and scanned the passing group of souvenir shops and eateries. The Forger chose not to comment further on it and turned and flipped the directory to see where number 12 was in the pink section, "What sounds good?"

"Uhh…anything that isn't Oriental." After countless months of nothing but Japanese delicacies, the thought of sushi and wontons had lost its luster.

He grimaced, "Agreed." Then ultimately decided to give up on number 12 and run his thumb down the list instead. "Mexican, perhaps?"

The Forger had a very weird obsession with Mexican food; Ariadne should've seen that suggestion coming. Over the course of the jobs she'd worked with him on she learned he had random, intense cravings for chips, salsa and enchiladas. He had nightly binges of Doritos Locos tacos if he could hunt a Taco Bell down in whatever country they were in. Their single extraction in Cozumel…lord have mercy. He loved it…despite the fact his digestion system hated it. She deadpanned, "You're fixing to be on a plane for several consecutive hours, Eames."

"So?"

"_So_ as much as I love you…I'm not going to indirectly subject the poor people in your plane to your—" The Architect smirked, "what do you like to call it again?"

He lifted his chin up and stepped off the moving sidewalk proudly, "Burrito Breeze."

Ari faked a gag and broke out into chuckles. They aimlessly perused the terminal, not seeing anything that jumped out at them yet. "God bless the people who have to sit by you for the next six hours and seven minutes."

"How about…" he pulled her to the touch screen directory in the middle of the restaurant section and pressed for number 51. "Rocket's Burgers and Bar?" Pictures came up on the screen. It was one of the corner eateries in Terminal C. But it was all brushed metal tables and bar, neon green, red and purple lights. And dark blue walls with specks of white. Ariadne was tickled with the labels on the sample menu: _Cosmic-politans. Galaxy Greens. Blast-Off Burgers. Astro Dogs. Stellar Jello_ and her personal favorite was a name for one of the drinks at the bar: _Super-Sonic Gin and Tonic. _She nodded a yes but ribbed, "Sounds 'Out of this World…'"  
xxxxxx

They sat at a booth near the front. Eames coolly sipped on his Martian-tini while Ariadne devoured the Orbital O-Rings they'd ordered as an appetizer to share. They'd covered the weather, did a little small talk over how surprisingly nice a person Grant was (she mentioned his exceptional ability to hack and research and said she'd given one of their old extractors-Keener—his number to train him in Point work), gushed over how delicious their food so far had been and reminisced about some of their favorite missions together. After a good long while of past and present he inquired about her future just after their burgers came. "So what's on the agenda once you get home?"

"Ew…I'll be busting my ass to find somewhere to live and retaking the classes I missed last Fall." It was followed by a hum of approval and delight for the first bite into her sandwich.

Eames shoved some fries in, "If you need someone to help you browse for a flat—"

"I have Miles and some friends from school" she put out there.

"—I mean someone exciting," joshed the Englishman.

She rolled her eyes, "Yeah. You're the only one I know of those…"

"Precisely. So if you need my services," his speech paused, his eyebrows waggled, "any of them," he chuckled when Ariadne's flushed face face-palmed and took another bite to hide the amusement, "I'm a two hour Eurostar ride away."

Ariadne washed down her mouthful with lemonade, "Perfect. What are you doing tomorrow?" She tore the half she was working on into a fourth. It was a mind over matter thing she believed because she ate more when she divided it up. Probably because it seemed like less. And Eames did the complete opposite—took the biggest chunk out of the whole thing as he could. He chewed a little, "I guess I'm visiting Paris. Want to get started at 9?"

She shrugged, "Sure. It's a date." She didn't actually think he was serious…but she enjoyed the ole Forger's company and having someone who constantly had her in stitches would keep her mind off of missing a certain someone. Especially since she wanted to get started finding a place soon and Miles wouldn't be back for a little over a week and she dreaded coming up with an explanation to give Clarisse and Edith about her strange and lengthy disappearance.

"You think you're done with the dreamshare world, now?"

The girl took a respite from the burger and grabbed another onion ring from the middle, "No. This didn't scare me away, believe it or not." His eyebrows rose but he continued chomping on his food. "It wasn't the occupation's fault I got into trouble, it was mine for being hardheaded and getting involved in something everyone told me was dangerous. I'll just be more careful of the jobs I accept…"

"You don't suppose—" Eames caught himself. It was best not to do what Arthur would in the situation. Last thing he wanted for the pixie to get upset with him. But she urged him on, "What? You can say it." The Forger sighed. Should he? In the end, he opted to, "Well, the trauma it's left you-certain deep-rooted stuff (for lack of a better term)…you don't think Wolffe or some of the Hoods might manifest into a shade like Mal?"

Honestly, she hadn't even considered that. So she took the time then to do so. "Cobb had unresolved issues. I feel like I had closure today. And I'll cross that bridge if I happen to come to it…I've got Saito's psychiatrist on speed dial." The last part was a joke. "What about you?"

"I think," Eames leaned back, "I'm going to have a relaxing couple of months at home to make up for all the stress." After another sip of martini he added, "And your buddy Grant is going to come up to the West End after he gets back from his parents' place; asked me to help him get a life set up there."

Ariadne smiled, "Good. He needs a normal life. He's a great guy,"

The Forger whistled, "Artie seems to think so. He suggested Grant go to London—well he suggested Paris first but figured that would be a little obvious." His plate pushed back.

"What does that mean?"

"Oh shit, I probably wasn't supposed to tell you that," said he prior to scratching his chin, "Arthur will have my hide."

Ariadne's face got a little darker and from what he'd seen she'd done Wolffe, her anger scared him. "William."

"He wants you and Grant to—" his hands made a twisting motion like they couldn't decide how to entwine together.

She took a cursory bite of fry and raised her eyebrows, "take pottery class?"

"Be together."

Ariadne pulled back as if she'd been hit, "He wants?"

Eames pursed his lips at her and gave her the old 'are you stupid' look, "I'm positive he doesn't _really _want that. He just wants what he thinks is best for you. And—we had a little convo while you were getting cleaned up and he thinks Grant would be good for you. He'll understand things Arthur can't—"

"Oh good. So at least _Grant _will understand I'd rather have Arthur."

Eames just sighed exasperated and dropped it. He didn't want to be in the middle and he didn't want to part on upset terms. Naturally, he agreed with Ariadne for brownie points. They hugged and separated casually. No need for long drawn out send-offs because they would see each other in the morning. Ariadne had to take the train back to Terminal E. Her and Eames had made impeccable timing; her fellow passengers were still waiting in boredom in the chairs by her gate. Ariadne plopped her backpack into one of the chairs and unzipped it to drop her box of leftover rings in. The man sitting on the other side turned around, "I've been looking for you. "

She glanced up at the stranger who turned out to be not so much of a stranger. Her and Eames had just discussed the dark haired, darkly clothed friend. He stood and walked around by her with hands in his pockets, " Was beginning to think you might've changed your flight."

"No, uh, I got kidnapped by our Forger," she joked, "We were famished so we hunted down some burger place." Ariadne looked him up and down. "I guess I'm not surprised to run into you. You never _actually_ said goodbye to me."

The man tilted his head and confessed, "My blatant physical inability to do so earlier is only further evidence that…I can't just say goodbye to you."

Ariadne's arms folded over her chest, "Arthur…" She knew he'd been less than enchanted with the way she tried to end things. He wanted a _real _goodbye. Whatever that happened to be in his head Ariadne couldn't grasp the concept of. "It's not as hard as you're making it. I don't know what kind of send off you expect. The tiniest violin in the world playing while I beg you to stay and you refuse all angsty? I'm not about to become some cliché and kiss you in the airport lobby. I love you, you know that. And you love me and _I _know that leaving is what you're going to do about it. That trying to force me into a relationship with Grant is what you're going to do about it."

He grunted with a scowl, "Eames."

"I don't have the time or stamina to make this dramatic. My plane leaves in ten minutes. Doesn't yours leave soon?"

The whole time, to Arthur's credit, he kept an even face and his hand in his pockets. "Ten minutes."

Her eyes widened, "Well you better go, daddy long legs. It's at least a terminal away. This one is only for international flights…you're going to miss it."

To her astonishment he was very calm and collected about it. Even shrugged aloofly. Then he dropped the bomb, "I already missed it. My flight to New York left an hour and a half ago." Well it wasn't a bad bomb…an ok bomb, maybe. "I need to come with you to Paris."

Why didn't she seem pleased with that? "Arth—" she huffed, aggravated, "That's just going to make it more difficult for us. If you come than no matter what I know, I'm going to think that I convince you to stay before you leave. And I won't be able to. I don't want the stress of another goodbye. I don't want to repeat the night you left me."

It was here that his detached, casual demeanor wore off. "We won't. I'm coming to Paris indefinitely…unless of course you move." The hands came out of his pockets and cautiously touched the sides of her elbows, "I know I need you more than you need me…and I've always said that the only thing I want—everything I do—is for your happiness." His eyes crinkled at the corners, "Please say that taking me back will make you happy. That you'll be happiest letting me go wherever you go. You said home is where the heart is and Ari, I surrendered mine to you long before you gave yours to me."

Flabbergasted. The Architect was flabbergasted but in a good way. She took a second to look at her shoes, his anxious flexing of his jaw and decided, "I don't care if you come with me or not."

Arthur's face fought to put a mask on, to hide the hurt in his eyes. His hands retracted from her and re-pocketed. He stared down the agent at the counter by the airway doors. "And I don't care if I go with _you _or not," she continued to get closer to him as if to rub and smear the words in his face, "I don't care if we get separated and have to go months without hearing from the other." In complete contradiction to the biting retort, her arms floated and clasped around his neck. Next, she softened her voice, "I don't care if we have to be apart, Arthur…as long as we're _together._" Paradox? His glare behind her snapped to a gaze on her. Ariadne's lips formed into a charming upturn, "What would make me happiest is you promising that every time you leave me, you'll always come back _home_."

"Try to keep me away." Suddenly his arms were back and squeezing her around her waist. Ariadne melded their lips together and slowly but sweetly deepened it with a smile. His voice was breathless and heady after he'd pulled away, "I thought you weren't going to become a cliché and kiss me in the airport lobby."

"Do you want me to stop?" she chided; teased him with a feather light brush over the corner of his mouth.

"No." He turned his head catch her mouth again. "But people are staring."

Ariadne chided, "Funny, isn't that how you got me to kiss you the first time? _Because _they were staring?" The Point was powerless to stop himself. She had one eyebrow cocked up and that damn infuriating, sarcastic, endearing as frick, simper on her face. He pecked her quickly. "I have an idea…" his ear burst into flame as a result of her thumb getting bored and running along the rim of it, "Why don't you kiss me until they _stop _staring?"

"If I keep kissing you then before long I won't be able to keep it chaste and I fear that will only encourage more staring."

Ariadne shrugged, "Well it's worth a shot, _I_ think…"  
xxxxxx

With the help of Eames, Ariadne and Arthur found a townhome just across the Pont Neuf, a few blocks from the bridge where couples write on locks and chain them to the fencing. They re-painted the bedroom and living area and remodeled the appliances in the kitchen. The Architect jumped back into school with no problem five semesters ago and graduated this morning to be exact. They're getting ready for dinner in celebration. Both of her long overdue accomplishment and deserved degree but also of their first job together since everything happened. Arthur had been doing Point work for simple extractions off and on while she buckled down and focused on schooling. She knew she wanted back into dream share but wanted to wait until after graduation to jump back in. The Point Man set up a two-level extraction job in Greece a week ago and they would leave day after tomorrow.

Arthur is already dressed in his finest three piece, pacing their room and waiting for her finish up. Reservations are for 6:30, it's already 6 and the restaurant is way across town near the Louvre but on tonight of night's he is happy to wait. She steps out of their bathroom with a wave of vanilla. There's already a smile plastered on his face when he turns around to view the graduate girl. A vision in peach, it's signature Ariadne—vintage styled. Like dresses from the fifties, it's a halter with a sweetheart neckline and full skirt. Light floral print. And laced up nude wedges to match. Hair in the natural curls but with an effort put into the distinction of them. "You need to change." He admonishes, "You look too stunning." His grin pops out beneath the scolding glare.

She rolls her eyes because geeze, it's just a simple sundress. He's so mushy. "Har. Har. I would but it's 6:02; I know you're chomping at the bit to get over there on time." The Architect goes to grab the sweater and clutch from the bed to walk out but Arthur catches her waist and guides her so that their stomachs are touching. "Are you happy?"

"…Yeah…"

His head tilts when she draws out the word. She's quick to reassure him because she knows how it sounded. It's not that she's unsure that she's happy it's that well—she's been thinking about the two of them and their dynamic a lot lately. "I've been thinking…and I want—I want us to be just like this forever."

Perfect. That's absolutely perfect. Arthur's dimples threaten to show. He's nervous and relieved all at the same time. He goes to give her a quick smooch before they leave but she blurts, "Will you marry me?" Wow. He rears back and blinks. "What?"

Ariadne repeats, "Will you. Marry me." She's really entertained by the amazement on his face. Arthur shakes his head, "I don't think that's how this is supposed to go…"

"Oh sorry." The Architect kneels to one knee and grabs his hand humorously, "Dearest Arthur, would you do me the honor of being my wife?" Then she adds for extra giggles, "We both know I wear the pants, so."

He looks more upset than she figures he should. He's wanted this for years, you'd think he'd be a little thrilled when she's the one who wants it and gets down to ask him. "But—but _I'm_ supposed to ask _you_."

"It _is_ the 21st century, Point Man. A woman can propose to a man." She smirks, "Especially if she's tired of waiting…" Ariadne finds that extra funny because he's been waiting longer. He's been waiting for _her_ to be ready.

Disbelief covers his face, "Tired of—" he starts to chuckle and gets down to her level on the floor. They're both sitting on their knees and the bottoms of their feet now. "Well, if you'd only waited about two more hours, Miss Impatience," his right hand fumbles in his jacket pocket and out pops a little velvet box, "I was going to ask you after dinner." The man simpers right back at her.

Ariadne sucks in a breath to rival a vacuum cleaner, eyes enlarged, mouth forming an 'O'…then she realizes how slack her jaw is and closes it hastily. Arthur has to rein in the laughter because her reaction is priceless. One word falls from her mouth: "Shit!" The Parisian is staring at the box with her hands on her cheeks. Her arms drop, she shoots up to stand and looks at him apologetically. "Shit…I'm so sorry, Arthur. You probably had every second meticulously planned and I came in with a wrecking ball to it."

Arthur stands too. It's his turn to take evil pleasure in her shock and squirming. "That's typical for us though," he smoothes it over. "So it feels right."

"Why don't we pretend I didn't say anything? We'll go do everything you had in mind and when you pop the question I'll act really surprised." She kind of smiles sheepishly at him, "I'll practice my face and shell-shocked crying in the car." Ariadne nods. She agrees with herself for Arthur. Her eyes widen all over again and she beats herself up, "You probably had a speech too. Crap."

"Yeah. I worked pretty hard on it. I would've liked a chance to say it."

"Great. Good job, Ariadne." It's too adorable how she talks to herself. For botched up plans, Arthur sure thinks it's going well. He offers, "Well we both know now. Why don't I say it here and we can add another celebratory reason for our dinner?"

Ariadne nods but she's still annoyed with herself. She readies herself and then blinks at him with expectant eyes. Arthur simply hugs her, requests "Marry me," and steps back. Ariadne blinks at him, her eyes cut from left to right. "That's all? You made a fuss over that? It was a hug and two words."

The Point Man's shit-eating grin seeps onto his features, "You haven't said 'Yes Arthur' yet. So it would make it a hug and four words." He feigns epiphany, "Oh! Or better yet, you could say 'Of course I will' and make it a hug and _six._"

She deadpans, "Are you mocking me? Cause I'm fixing to say No and change into my pajamas."

Arthur starts, "Alright, alright, I'm sorry." After straightening his suit, he kneels on one knee. "You already know what I'm going say. You know I need you. You know there isn't anything I wouldn't find a way to give you, if you asked. And I know that's vice versa. We know that nothing, no one, can keep us apart as long as we're together. A wise woman once told me: 'I love you. You love me. There's a simple and straightforward solution to that.' You're right, here it is…If you want me to wait longer, I'll wait for you to infinity and beyond. I will do whatever you want, whatever makes you happiest. But please say that that's becoming my wife." He opens the box to reveal a stunning, sophisticatedly simple engagement ring. "Will _you_ marry me?"

Ariadne doesn't have to fake the shell-shocked tears of joy. She grabs him by the tie and pulls him up off the ground, "Get up here. You know the answer is yes." He slips the ring onto her finger without ever leaving her beaming lips.

**Fin.**

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Tada! Full circle. Instead of fighting and breaking up over not being ready to get married, she's the one who brings it up. Woo! That second half was for you lovely people that helped me reach my goal of 100 reviews before the end of the story: _**lilachiccups**_, haha your reviews killed me this time around. Basically every time you use all caps, I die laughing. Your 'SHE FREAKING LOVES YOU ARTHUR! JUST ACCEPT IT AND MAKE BEAUTIFUL BABIES TOGETHER!' was amazing and your 'IF YOU RUIN THIS BY…etc' was pretty funny too. Just because come on now, I knew I wasn't going to let him walk away. I didn't disappoint you, did I? hahah. **Lauraa-x: **Yay, I know Im evil for it but I'm so glad you genuinely thought Ari died in the fight at first. That was my goal, I love tricking my readers…haha. I think Arthur got a little better at actually listening to what would make her happy instead of assuming, huh? And **Lazarus76: **Thank you, thank you! Hope that was happy enough!

**Additional thank you to all other readers and reviewers: **Thank you for sticking with me those of you that did. The Hood organization was loosely inspired by The East (still haven't seen it, come out dvd!) and then I had also watched American Crime starring Ellen Page as Sylvia Likens going into it. Which if you haven't seen it, it is a terribly moving but very dark movie about the true story of child abuse in the 1950's I believe. So I know 'Hooded' was super tough and horrible and dark at times and depressing most of it but it was a brainchild and an issue I could not shake. As a writer, I really wanted to explore those thoughts.

**Next Story: ** "**With You**." Not at all related to this one and you'll be happy to know that there is no dark material. Yayayay. Its not all fluff but nowhere near the content of this one. Its basically a look at Ariadne and Arthur (of course) and how—over the course of a couple years—they fall in and out and in and out of love with each other, starting a bit after Inception. I've never done a story where they're in the process of a developing relationship (except for Follow the Red but even in that they had some form of flirty history). I've never gone from strict co-workers to lovers soooo I hope I can pull it off and if you're interested I'd love for you to join me on a new journey!


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